


Thirty Years

by ChloeWinchester, Johniarty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Legal Slavery, M/M, Minor sexual content near the end, Talks of sexual abuse, Torture, dark!Sherlock, dystopian au, johniarty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johniarty/pseuds/Johniarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Moriarty has been a legal slave for thirty years, sold to cover the debt of his dead parents when he was only a child. After decades of pain, abuse, and starvation, he meets a doctor who just might change his life. || John Watson refused the offer of a slave in payment for his military service, opting instead for the larger pension- the thought of keeping a human as a servant made him sick to his stomach. After meeting Sherlock Holmes and his slave, his feelings only grow stronger- and he decides to save the man from his life of misery. A Dystopian AU wherein government-sponsored slavery is legal and very poorly regulated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! John and Jim here, to say 'thanks for reading'! We took a lot of the suggestions and critiques we've received in the past and put them into effect here- our usually smut-heavy fics have taken a backseat here, for plot and character development. There IS some sexual content near the end, but not much. This is all story, and ENTIRELY an AU. As Jim discovers himself, you see a little of the usual Moriarty come through, but that's near the end- just keep that in mind. Here, Jim has been a slave for thirty years; abused, sexually, physically, and mentally, starved, sick, with no hope of being freed. He's not the confident criminal, he's broken, and suffering.
> 
> Just, be warned ahead of time. This is an AU, and this might not be the Jim you're looking for.
> 
> ChloeWinchester writes for Jim (obviously) and Sherlock, and ChosenOfAshurha writes for John (hell yeah).
> 
> ((And, as usual, it's ENTIRELY FINISHED. John just has to edit it))

Jim Moriarty had been a slave since he was three years old. Drunken parents who killed themselves left a lot of debt and a child as their only collateral. That was thirty-three years and eighteen owners ago. Right now he belonged to Master Holmes, and he was one of the cruelest ones he'd ever had. Whether he was mean for sport or just that cold he wasn't sure. But when you're forced to live in the moldy, cold basement with a mattress pad and a moth eaten throw blanket for a bed and a bucket to piss in it's hard to tell the difference. And at this particular moment, shoved over an icy metal table with his pants yanked to his thighs, he was being repeatedly whipped with a riding crop. For an experiment, of course.

John Watson limped through the park, a grimace on his face. It hurt. Everything hurt lately. Ever since he returned home from the war, things had been... well, a bit not good. He'd been saving most of his pensions, which were far more than he felt comfortable taking- after all, he had been planning to enlist anyway, and he couldn't afford a slave. Why bother, right? But he was lonely. He hadn't heard from Harry since she got married, his father was mercifully dead, and he refused to see his mother. He had no one. All he had were the nightmares, and his licensed Sig. He was thinking of that very companion when someone called his name. Mike, a friend from his childhood, a friend from uni. John managed a smile as they spoke. When he mentioned the possibility of a flatmate, Mike perked up. He knew a bloke, it seemed, and maybe John would get on with him. That's how he found himself at Saint Bart's, under the piercing blue gaze of a man holding a riding crop.

Jim didn't move when the other man came in. He kept his eyes down and his hands clenched into fists to keep the tears in his eyes. If he moved or spoke out of turn, or when Master Holmes hadn't told him to he'd be punished. And a man with a mind like his makes his punishments...creative. So he stayed where he was, arse bared and bruising in the open air.

Sherlock turned when the doctor entered, smiling a little. "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John frowned a little, brow furrowing. "Sorry?"

Jim shivered.

"Where you served. Afghanistan or Iraq?" The slender man glanced at Jim and sneered. "Oh, god, get up. Put your fucking clothes on. Useless thing."

John looked up as the man rose and began to dress, his frown deepening. "Afghanistan," he said.

Jim pulled his pants up, his breath shaking. When he was clothed again he clasped his hands in front of him and kept his head bowed, ignoring the radiating pain.

Sherlock smiled. "Thought as much. So, you're looking for a flatmate?"

"Um, yes. Yes, I am."

Sherlock cocked his head. "What's the matter? Oh," he nodded, glancing at the slave. "Not used to them? Don't mind it. Pretend it's not even there. Now, I tend not to speak for days on end and play the violin at three in the morning. Is that a problem?"

John shook his head. "Um. No, no, why would it be?"

Jim tried to pretend the way Master Holmes referred to him didn't bother him.

John looked over at the other man. He didn't like the curly-haired one's attitude towards him, whether he was a slave or not.

"Well, potential flatmates should know the worst about each other," Sherlock smiled.

Jim could feel other eyes on him and swallowed but didn't look up. _I wonder if he'll beat me too._

"And that's your worst? Potential silence and late night violining?"

Sherlock chuckled. "Well, I have a tendency to be a little brash. I keep a fair amount of odd experiments going. And living with me means you have to put up with this thing."

"I'm sure he won't be a problem."

Sherlock chuckled. "You say that now. So, tomorrow at four?"

Jim dared a glance at the man, wondering if he'd actually heard right and he'd stuck up for him.

"Tomorrow at four? I don't even know your name, we've just met, and already we're going to look at a flat? I thought there'd be more discussing, considering we know nothing about each other."

"I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help, because you don't approve of him—possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He asked, smirking. "I'm Sherlock Holmes."

John looked at him, wide eyed. "And where am I supposed to meet you, tomorrow at four?"

"221B Baker Street." He turned, snapping the riding crop to get the slave's attention. "Afternoon!"

John watched the two of them leave, frowning. Something about the man rubbed him wrong. Well, I don't have to take the flat. I'm just going to look, after all.

Jim jumped at the sound, swallowing and following him. He risked one more glance at the doctor when they left, ducking his head and leaving, wondering how much of an impact this was going to have on him.

John met the shorter man's brown eyes as he left, noticing the way he almost limped as he walked. _Did he use that bloody thing on him? Sod, I don't think this is a good idea, if he's that violent._

Jim spent the evening moving things in the new flat, careful not to knock anything over. He went on into the wee hours situating things the way Sherlock wanted them, trying desperately not to mess up anything or drop something. That all went down the drain when he dropped and shattered a beaker. He tried sweeping up and was told to do it with his hands. He went to bed sore from the riding crop and the fresh beating and glass in his hands. And he was awake two hours later to make Master's breakfast.

John sat in front of his blog until well past two in the morning. Ella had told him to write, but... what could he say? Nothing ever happened to him, he had tried to tell her. He finally closed it and got into bed, setting his alarm for nine. He didn't need to be up that early, but old habits die hard. When he slept, the nightmares came like an old friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John arrives at 221B Baker Street to see about the flat.

Jim was making tea when the doctor was supposed to arrive, hands still itching and stuck with a few tiny shards.

John showered and dressed and hailed a cab, heading to the address Mr. Holmes had given him. When he arrived, he rang the buzzer.

"Get the door!" Sherlock spat, toying with his violin in the chair.

Jim jumped and went down the stairs without a word, swaying a little as he did. He steadied himself, ignoring his exhaustion and opening the door, eyes down.

John smiled at the brown-eyed man, though he wouldn't look up. "Hello, is Mr. Holmes in?" He faltered when he saw the man's hands. "... Oh, christ, are you alright? Do you know where the first aid kit is? I can take care of that, for you."

"Mr. Holmes is waiting for you upstairs, sir," Jim said softly, barely speaking. He swallowed and shook his head. "N-not unless Master Holmes says you can, s-sir."

John frowned. "That's... I'll ask him. Thank you." He wanted to comfort the man, who seemed scared out of his wits, but he didn't want to scare him worse. He headed up the stairs and into the flat proper.

Jim followed after him with his head down and his hands clasped, highly doubting that he'd be helped in the slightest. He moved immediately to get the tray for tea, forcing his eyes to stay open and his body to keep moving. He set the tray between them and stepped back until he would be of use.

"Mr. Holmes." The man was fiddling with his violin and fixing him with a rather intense stare. "As you are aware that I am, in fact, a doctor, I'd like to ask your permission to treat your servant's lacerations before we begin."

Sherlock frowned a little and his brows rose. "You want to fix it? Why?"

"Because he could get an infection, and I'm sure he's in pain."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him. "Why do you care?"

"Because I'm a doctor." He refused to back down.

Sherlock waved his hand. "Fine, fine. You want to waste resources on it, go fix it."

Jim honestly didn't understand why this doctor wanted to fix him, or help him in any way. It didn't make any sense.

"Thank you," John said curtly. He turned to the other man. "Can you take me to your first aid kit?"

Jim nodded, utterly astounded, and left him down the hall to the bathroom. He reached into the medicine cabinet and handed it to him. "There you go, sir," he said quietly.

John nodded toward the toilet. "Take a seat, please. I'm not going to lie; this will probably hurt, and I'm sorry, but I need to get the glass out of your hand before I can bandage you." As soon as the man was seated John knelt beside him and took one hand in his right, the left operating the tweezers. "What's your name?"

Jim glanced at the seat several times before actually sitting down, assuring himself he had permission to do so. He winced when he took his hand, expression twisted in a bit of discomfort. "I..." He actually had to think about it. "Jim. I'm Jim."

John smiled up at him. "Alright, Jim. I'm John. Like I said, this is going to hurt, but it'll be worth it once I get you bandaged." He began to pluck the glass from his hand, dropping the shards in the bin.

John. He barely moved when he took the glass out, shifting a little uncomfortably on the toilet seat.

John finished the first hand. "Okay, this is... going to be awful, but I need your wounds clean, okay?" He poured a little alcohol onto a rag and began to dab at the cuts.

Jim hissed, swallowing down any other noises of pain.

"I'm sorry," John said softly. "The good news is you won't need any stitches." When he was done he massaged a bit of neosporin onto Jim's palm and pressed a clean cotton pad to it. He wrapped it in gauze to finish it off. "Alright, let me see the other one, please."

Jim was unused to someone handling him so gently, even if it was just his hand. He risked a look at his face, awed. He gave his other hand to him.

John repeated the process, concentrating on his work, trying too hard not to notice the bags under his eyes. "Are you tired?"

"Yes, sir," Jim said quietly, eyes drooping at the mention of his fatigue.

John looked up at him. "What if were able to secure you time for a nap? It wouldn't be comfortable, but it'd be better than nothing."

"Why would you do that, sir?" He asked, chewing his lip.

"Because you're tired, and you're hurt, and you need some rest."

Jim frowned. "You...Sir, it doesn't matter if I'm tired or if I'm hurt," he swallowed, glancing at him with wide eyes. "That's not how it works, sir. Not with things like me.”

John fixed him with a disapproving stare. "You're not a _thing_ , Jim. You're a man, same as me. You know about the ultimatum, right? How soldiers who forgo slaves get higher pensions? I didn't do it for the money, though it's nice to not have to wonder where my next meal is coming from." He lowered his voice. "I don't bloody approve of it. And I don't really like the way Mr. Holmes treats you. So while that may not be how it works, I don't really care. You shouldn't have to live like this."

Jim swallowed. "No one's ever been this nice to me," he squeaked. "And it's how Master Holmes has told me I'm going to live, sir. I don't have a choice. I still have to clean up after tea, make dinner, scrub the baseboards and finish helping Master Holmes unpack, sir. I don't get to sleep for hours yet."

John frowned. "That's cruel, you can't scrub, not with your hands like this."

"I broke the beaker, it's my fault my hands are like this, sir. It's my job."

John shook his head. "You could have swept it up .Accidents happen."

"I did sweep it, sir.”

"Then why are your hands so cut?"

"I swept with my hands, sir."

John stilled, eyes growing dark. "Why?"

Jim frowned, a little confused. "I told you I broke a beaker, sir."

"Does Mr. Holmes not own a broom? Or a dustpan?"

"Yes, sir, he does."

"Then why didn't you use them?"

"Sir, I broke a beaker. I broke something, I was to be punished. My punishment was picking up all the glass without using a broom, sir."

John sighed. "That's fucked up, Jim, it really is." He finished wrapping his other hand. "I'm so sorry. And I told you, my name is John. You don't have to call me sir."

Jim stopped, trying to think straight, very, very confused. "Sir- J...J-John, it's how things are done."

"Yeah, I know. And I don't approve."

“You haven't had one, have you?"

"What, a... a slave? No, my family was always too poor. Father threatened to sell my sister and I if we fucked up bad enough, but neither of us did."

Jim just nodded, ducking his head again in submission.

John frowned. "I'm sorry."

Jim's head snapped up, brow creased. He...apologized. To him.

John noticed the movement. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable, sir- John." These rules were making him dizzy. "I don't understand."

“Don't understand what?”

"Why you said sorry to me, s- John."

"Because it seemed like I'd upset you."

Jim shook his head. "People don't apologize to me for anything, sir."

“I'm not most people, Jim."

"I can see that, sir. John. I'm sorry," he ducked his head again.

"Hey, don't apologize. You're fine."

Jim just stayed quiet, confused. And his head hurt.

John sighed. "We'd better get you downstairs before he gets suspicious. Ready, Jim?"

"Yes...John. Thank you." He stood, hands clasped and head bowed as usual, walking downstairs with him, standing to the side.

John led him back down to the living room and took a seat in one of the chairs. "Now, Mr. Holmes. I believe we were going to talk about lodgings?"

"Yes, I believe we were," Sherlock replied, smiling pleasantly. "There's a room upstairs, plenty of room for the both of us. Right in the city and Mrs. Hudson's given me a break on the rent."

"What exactly would living with you entail?”

"I don't know, the same thing it entails living with others. I have been known to consult with the police from time to time."

"You have?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. It's...kind of my job. I was actually working on a man's alibi when we met."

John felt his eyes widen in surprise. "Oh! That's really interesting. Might I take a look at the room?"

"Yes of course." Sherlock stood and took him upstairs, giving Jim a glare when he didn't get out of the way fast enough. "Start on the baseboards," he ordered.

John frowned at Sherlock's back as he followed.

"Yes, Master Holmes." He went to the kitchen and immediately started running hot water into a bucket.

Sherlock led John to the room and stood aside in the doorway.

John took a look around. It was bigger than the flat he was currently renting on his own, but he wasn't sure.

"Something wrong?"

John shook his head. "No, I'm just... not entirely sure about this. It's so... big."

Sherlock chuckled. "Well, yes, but I'm sure you could get used to it. Your current flat must feel cramped at times."

John shook his head. "Not really. I'm the only one there."

"Well, my offer stands however you wish to take it," the detective assured, smiling.

Jim winced and hissed as he scrubbed, tears in his eyes that he would quickly swallow when Sherlock came back downstairs.

“Alright. I'll think about it. Thank you for the offer, Mr. Holmes."

"No problem." His phone rang and he sighed. "Sorry, have to take this. It's downstairs, it'll show you out."

John nodded and followed Sherlock down the stairs.

Sherlock talked into the receiver all the way down, snapping at Jim when they reached the bottom and nodding his goodbye to John.

Jim swallowed and stood, putting the rag back in the bucket and led John to the front door.

John nodded back at Sherlock, watching for him to vanish into the living room. "Jim," he said quietly. "Thank you."

Jim frowned a little, holding the door for him. "For what, sir?"

"For letting me help, what little I could."

"Thank you for fixing my hands," he said softly.

John smiled at him. "You're welcome. I'm tempted to move in just to help, but he's..."

Jim wilted inwardly. _You thought you might actually get some help, might actually get someone around who won't beat you senseless_. "I can't tell you want to do, sir."

John bit his lip. "I need you to be honest with me, Jim. If I moved in with Mr. holmes, would I be in danger?"

Jim's brows knitted. "A bit. With his cases, possibly."

"But not from Sherlock himself?”

"Master Holmes wouldn't harm you, sir," Jim replied softly.

John nodded. "I'll give it a shot, then. Thank you, Jim. Please tell Mr. Holmes I accept.”

Jim s brows rose a little. "Yes, sir."

John smiled again. "Thank you. Good afternoon, Jim. And be careful with your hands." He turned to leave, hailing a cab at the sidewalk.

Jim bowed his goodbye and shut the door, taking weary steps back upstairs. "Dr. Watson said he accepts," he said softly.

"I'm on the fucking phone, you idiot," Sherlock hissed. When he hung up he backhanded him to the ground. "Perfect. I want this place spotless by the time he gets here tomorrow. And clean up the goddamn tea." He stalked to his room and slammed the door shut.

Jim stood shakily, a bruise forming on his cheek and started cleaning, knowing he wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon. He prayed he wouldn't collapse.

John got back to his flat and looked around. I'll keep leasing it anyway. Just in case I need to get away. He began to pack, wondering how different his life was going to be.

Jim collapsed on his "bed" somewhere around three in the morning, fingers raw, as were his knees. The cleaning products still stuck in his lungs made it hard to breathe, insides twisting from hunger. But at least he could sleep. Stomach cramps and all.

John slept fitfully, dreams filled with gunfire, smoke, and screams. _I should have warned Holmes about that_ , he thought in the empty darkness left clinging to him as he panted, sweating, in his bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John spends his first day at Sherlock's flat.

Jim was awake with breakfast cooking four hours later, everything set out and ready when Sherlock came down. The detective promptly took his tea and tapped cigarette ash on the meal while he smoked. Jim started on the dishes.

John gathered his bags and headed out near four.

Jim made sure everything was absolutely perfect for when John arrived, dark circles darker, stomach still empty, but he'd been allowed water earlier. Master Sherlock tended to forget about food a lot. He'd washed his own clothes, white uniform faded to off-white now, but they were clean. He gently touched the bruise on his cheek, the welts on his backside making him wince and limp worse than the day before. And his hands were on fire.

John knocked on the door around four-thirty, bags beside him, uniform slung over his arm.

Jim went to the door immediately when John knocked, opening the door and stepping aside. "Good evening, Dr. Watson, sir."

John smiled at Jim. "Hello, Jim. I'm not too early am I?"

Jim shook his head. "No, sir, of course not."

John picked up his bags, still limping slightly, and started toward the stairs. Still exhausted, barely able to keep himself up. Christ, what's Sherlock done to you? "Want to follow me up and help me unpack?"

"No, no, sir, let me." He took the bags from him and followed John up the stairs. "If that's what you need me to do then I will help you unpack, sir."

John frowned. "You don't have to carry those, you know. You're limping worse than I am."

"It's my job, sir."

"Carrying bags?" He slipped past him on the stairs and opened the door for him.

Jim paused, looking at the open door and John. "I...yes, sir. That's my job. To do these things." He still hadn't moved.

John motioned for him to enter. "Come on, Jim. It's alright."

Jim walked through the doorway when every instinct told him not to.

John started to unpack, with Jim helping beside him. The first thing he did was hang his uniform. "How are your hands today, Jim?"

"They hurt, sir," he said, piling clothes neatly on the bed.

"Would you like to check them at some point? There's not much I can do, other than apply more antiseptic cream, but it should help with the pain."

"You don't have to bother with that, sir," Jim assured, cautiously putting what he was sure was pajamas in the dresser.

"I don't want to have to do it alone. You look like you've been working hard enough for one day. You could sit, if you liked, and just keep me company."

Jim frowned and looked at him. "Sit?"

John nodded. "In the chair, if you'd like."

Jim wasn't sure what to do. He stood still, looking terrified as he tried to think.

John frowned. "What's the matter?"

"You asked me to sit down."

J"Well, yes, I did. Is there a problem?"

Jim swallowed. "M-might sound a little Harry Potter, but...but oo one's asked me to sit down. Not, not in a place they sit too and not when I'm supposed to be working."

John bit his lip and closed the door. "I won't tell if you won't. Cor, looks like he's been working you to the bone. Rest a minute, Jim. Please."

Jim swallowed again and very, very slowly managed to sit in the chair. He sighed, his eyes falling shut, entire body deflating while his bones ached and throbbed. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much."

John smiled gently. "You're welcome." He continued to unpack, finishing with his clothes and starting on his trinkets. Photographs, his dog tags, a few souvenirs from his deployment... including the bullet that shot him. He began arranging them on his nightstand.

Jim started to doze in seconds against his will, the exhaustion clinging to him forcing him to in the light sleep.

John was careful not to wake him, listening for the sound of footsteps in case he needed to deflect Mr. Holmes.

Jim gasped awake near fifteen minutes later, looking to John in horror. "I'm sorry, sir, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to sleep, I'm so sorry."

"Shhh. You needed the rest." John smiled. "It's not enough, I know, but every bit helps. Ready to head down and face Mr. Holmes?"

Jim honestly didn't understand this man. He stood shakily, nodding. "Yes, sir. I need to start making dinner, and I don't know what you like, sir."

"Anything, really. I'm not a picky eater." John opened the door and motioned for Jim to exit.

"Yes, sir." He hesitated again at the door, starting to get another headache from all of it and stepped out, waiting for John to go down the stairs first. Sherlock would be angry if he didn't.

John headed down, not wanting to push the man.

Sherlock looked up when John came in. "Did you get moved in alright?"

John nodded. "Yes, I did. Thank you. May I have a seat?"

Jim moved into the kitchen with his head still bowed, careful around Sherlock's experiments as he started to cook.

"Of course, please." The detective gestured to the seat opposite him.

John sat down in the chair, resting his cane against the arm.

"It wasn't much of a bother was it?" Sherlock asked, nodding to the kitchen. "It's a bit useless lately."

John frowned. "He was very helpful, and I appreciated every bit. He seems to need a bit of rest, though. I've seen that sort of exhaustion on the battlefield."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's fine. Likes attention. I'm glad it was helpful to you, though."

John frowned. "He's not an 'it', Mr. Holmes, he's a human being, and he needs the same things we do. Food, sleep, time to heal."

Jim paused in front of the stove, listening to the conversation and trying not to panic.

Sherlock cocked his head. "You're really not used to this, are you?" He turned toward the kitchen. "Come here." He grabbed Jim's shirt and yanked him down, forcing his head down and showing John a barcode on the back of the slave's neck. "See that?" He asked, looking at the doctor. "That means it's not a person. It's property." He let him go. "Go finish dinner."

John fixed Sherlock with a cold stare. "Code or not, I don't really care."

Jim flinched when Sherlock grabbed him, afraid he was going to be hurt. He relaxed when he let him go, stepping back into the kitchen to keep cooking.

Sherlock chuckled. "Fine. Fine, it can sleep when dinner's through."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock snorted. "You're welcome.”

John hoped that he hadn't just gotten Jim in further trouble. _I can't help it, I hate seeing people suffer._

Jim was afraid just how long he might be sleeping now. He stepped out a few minutes later, head down. "Dinner is ready, Master Holmes. Dr. Watson," he nodded.

"Thank you," John said as he rose, limping over to the dining room table.

Sherlock watched John go and stood, waiting until he and Jim were out of sight of the doctor. He grabbed the slave by the back of his neck, hauling him down the stairs to the door to his room, ignoring his pleas and apologies. He chucked him down the stairs, glaring down at the heap of filth he saw the man as. "There. Sleep." He slammed the door shut and went back up to eat.

John winced at the noise. God DAMMIT. That poor man. I wish I could help.

"Please, please, Master Holmes, I'm sorry," Jim squeaked, yelping as the grip got tighter. He stared down at the dark stairs, shaking his head. "Master, please, no. Please, I'm sorry, I'll be-" And then he was tumbling down wood and falling on concrete. Thank god, nothing broke or was sprained, his body aching. He fought to catch his breath, coughing and writhing, shuddering. When the door closed he dragged himself over to his bed, falling onto the fabric and clinging to his blanket. He bit his fist to stifle his sobs.

Sherlock sat down across from him and made himself a plate.

John dished his food, frowning.

S"There's something wrong. What's wrong?”

"You tell me. You can read people so well."

Sherlock sighed. "God, is this still about the slave?"

John took a bit of his food. "I was raised in a physically abusive household. It stands to reason I'd be bothered by the way you treat him."

"Everyone treats them like this."

"Everyone? Can you honestly speak for all of London?"

Sherlock sighed and sat back. "I can speak statistically and make a generalization to save time."

"That doesn't make me any more comfortable with it."

"What do you want me to do, John?"

"Treat him better. Obviously you're not going to treat him like a man, but he's... god, he's half-starved, he's exhausted, and his hands... those wounds need time to heal, he can't be exposing them to bacteria, especially not if he's as weak as he looks, his immune system probably couldn't handle getting sick."

"Why do you care whether a slave lives or dies? They're slaves. You lose one, you buy another. Like a kettle or a toaster oven. That one's old. It's weak and I'm ready to get rid of it anyway. Maybe the next one won't be so incompetent.”

"What do you mean, getting rid of him?"

"You buy them from an agency. You get one that doesn't work out and you give it back. It gets fixed and sent back out if it's good enough."

John frowned. "That's... terrible. What if... what if someone wanted to purchase one, used?"

Sherlock shrugged. "You say you want an experienced one, they hand you a book or line them up and you pick."

"No buying from owners, then?"

"You have to go through the agency and let them be processed and sign the paperwork there. Takes about an hour."

John nodded, making a mental note of it. "Alright, thank you."

"For what?"

"Talking to me about it. I've never had to deal with slaves, so I don't really know how one even goes about acquiring one."

Sherlock shrugged and continued eating. "You just go to the agency and buy one."

John kept eating, looking down at his plate. He decided to sneak some food to Jim, if he could and if the chance presented itself.

Sherlock finished his plate and tossed it in the sink, checking his phone. "I have to go. I'll be back in a few hours, Lestrade needs me." He informed. "Make yourself at home." He shuffled down the stairs and put on his coat and his scarf before disappearing outside.

John waited five minutes before refilling his plate and slipping off downstairs, where he assumed Jim would be. He flipped the lock on his door and opened it. "Jim? It's John. May I come in?"

Jim sat up with a grunt, sleep clinging to him as much as the pain was. "Yes," he called, forcing himself up, body on fire. He stood in the middle of the room, head down and his hands clasped as per usual.

John came in, smiling gently. "I brought you some food while Sherlock's out-" He stopped, seeing the tenseness in his stance. "Are you okay?”

"I...hurt, sir," he said softly, shaking a little. God, he was still so tired... "You brought me food?"

John nodded. "Yes, I did. Why do you hurt? Other than your hands, of course."

"I..." He swallowed. "Master threw me down the stairs, sir."

John let out a slow, shuddering breath. _Blackness. The sound of bone snapping. Concussion. Two bloody days_. "Jim." He handed the man his plate. "Sit down, and eat. Please." He kept his head down, trying to fight the nausea and the rage, the hate rising inside of him. "He's a fucking bully," he whispered, not trusting his own voice. "You don't fucking do that to a person. I don't care what they've done. And you... you didn't do a god damned thing wrong." _I'm... son of a fucking bitch, I have to get him out of here_. It was hard to focus, hard to keep himself from smashing Holmes' things- the only that kept him in check was the thought of what would happen to Jim if he let go. "Never stairs. Never again. _Never_."

Jim knew he said something wrong and winced, waiting to be struck for something, confused when he wasn't. He put his hands down and took the plate, sitting slowly with a wince. He listened to John talk, his lips shaking as he ate. He said nothing, sure that if he did John would get angrier and strike out at him.

John sank to the floor, head in his hands. "I'm sorry he hurt you like that. Is... is anything broken? I'm good with makeshift splints, I had to do it on the field pretty often..."

Jim shook his head, confused and eating slowly in case he changed his mind. "No sir, nothing's broken."

John risked a glance at him. "You do know I'm mad at him, right? Not you?"

I'm never sure, sir," Jim replied softly.

John swallowed. "When I was fourteen, my father... got mad at me, for something, and threw me down our cellar stairs. Banged my head pretty badly, broke my right arm, fractured my ribs... Locked me down there for two days, no food, no light. I screamed myself hoarse within the first few hours. It was... it was worse than when I was shot, during my tour. Sore spot with me, and he... Sherlock fucking... He did the same thing to you, and I just... It makes me so mad, that I can't fucking stop him."

"I'm so sorry, sir," Jim said. "He didn't really force me to stay down here, sir. This is my room. Your suffering's worse."

John shook his head. "Don't say that. Pain is pain, period. It's just not fair that you have to deal with him, he's a god damned psychopath. At least, that's what I gather, from how he treats you."

Jim said nothing and kept his head down, still eating.

John sat quietly, looking down at the ground, waiting for him to finish.

Jim ate a little less than half before he couldn't anymore. Then he remembered. "Oh, oh god this isn't- it's not my plate, it's not my fork. I used Master's things! I..." There were tears and panic in his eyes.

John held out his hand and took took the plate. "Jim, it's alright. He doesn't have to know."

Jim wiped his eyes, trembling. "If he finds out, if he ever finds out..."

John placed a careful hand on Jim's shoulder. "I won't tell him, Jim, I promise. I'll go up, and do the dishes, and he won't know, and there'll be less work for you tomorrow."

Jim winced at the contact, staring at John's hand. "I...you don't have to...Why are you being so kind to me?”

"Because you don't deserve the hell he puts you through, Jim. Sherlock... Sherlock reminds me of my father, and I can't... I can't sit by and let him treat someone this way. And from the looks of it, you've been dealing with his abuse for a long time. Do you want me to come back when I'm done with dishes, or would you like me to let you sleep?"

Jim just looked at him, blinking. "I get a choice?"

"Yes, of course you do. I don't want to force my company on you, especially not when you're this exhausted."

Jim smiled weakly. "Sir, I've been exhausted for thirty years."

"Has it always been this bad?"

Jim nodded. "Since I was three, sir."

John frowned. "What if... what if I bought you, and freed you?"

Jim's brows creased. "What?"

"What if I saved up to buy you, and free you?"

Jim shook his head. "I...can't be freed, sir."

"Why not?"

Jim "The level of slave I am, sir. The debt I owe...I'm to spend an entire life paying it off, sir." He looked hopeful, though, eyes bright and clear. "But...but if I were to be with you- If you were to purchase me, sir...it might be, good."

John frowned. "So I can't... I can't free you. But I could buy you, and take care you as though you were free. Feed you, make sure you're bathed, with new clothes, never raise a fist to you... correct?"

Jim just looked at him a moment, in utter disbelief. "Yes, you...you could do those things. But...why would you?"

John couldn't believe he had to explain it again. You poor man... "Because I care. I hate seeing people suffer, and... God, thirty years, Jim. You've suffered far too much."

"S-so? That's how it goes, that's how it's been- That's how it's supposed to be for me. I...but, I can't tell you what to do, sir, I'm sorry."

John squeezed his shoulder gently. "It won't go that way for much longer. I promise, Jim. And you can call me John, when it's just us, remember?"

Jim nodded. "Right, John," he forced. He wouldn't get his hopes up, not yet.

John drew his hand back and smiled gently. "Would like me to let you get some sleep now, Jim?"

"I...I am very tired, J-John."

John nodded. "Alright. Get some rest." He smiled at him as he left, re-latching the door so Sherlock wouldn't get mad. He took his food up and started putting it in tupperware, packing it away in the fridge. He had a rather nasty shock, as there was a severed head staring at him from it's depths. "Jesus!" He closed the door and hung his head, gathering his senses. Oh, lord, what have I gotten myself into? He found places for the food and cleaned up the dishes, putting everything away and wiping down the counter and table. Satisfied, he retrieved a book from his bedroom and took a seat on the sofa.

Jim curled up on his mat and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, full for the first time in years. His hands hurt and his body hurt too but...but he had something to look forward to now. He slept almost instantly, hoping it would be better tomorrow.

John knew that, if he was being honest with himself, Jim reminded him of a younger version of himself- much younger, when he still lived at home, the threat of slavery held over his head. Cowering at loud noises, never making eye contact, calling everyone sir (or ma'am)... He wanted to help him. First, though, that mean working on Sherlock.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During his second day at 221B, things get a little tense.

Sherlock came home a few hours later, sighing and falling in his chair.

John looked up from his book. "Rough night?"

"No, just an annoying one. You?"

John shrugged. "It's been quiet. Your man asked to do the dishes and clean up after dinner before he slept, so I let him. Nothing eventful."

Sherlock chuckled, rubbing his temples. "Maybe it's not totally useless after all."

"Of course he isn't. Headache?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "A bit, yes."

"Want something for the pain?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm fine."

John shrugged. "Alright then. Just trying to help."

"God," Sherlock said after a few moments. "I'm getting rid of it tomorrow."

John frowned. "Why?"

"Because I'm tired of dealing with it. Not going to get much money on it anyway, might as well get a new one."

"...I'd like to purchase him, if you'll let me come down to the office with you."

Sherlock looked at him a moment and chuckled. "Sentiment."

"Sorry?"

"You like it. That's why you want it."

"I want to give him a better life."

Sherlock barked a laugh. "A better life. For a slave."

“Better than being abused, yes. I know what that's like."

"Oh...and I remind you of someone that hurt you."

John swallowed. "Yes, Mr. holmes, you do."

Sherlock stared at him. "Fine. Fine, you want the thing, take it."

John was extremely uncomfortable. "Thank you."

"I think I'm going to bed," he said, standing, still glaring at him as he went into his room.

John sighed as he left. _Tomorrow then. And I can't stay here. That man hates me_. He retired to his own room, changing into pajamas and hanging his dressing gown on the back of the chair. _Goodnight, Jim. Hang in there._

Jim had an entire night riddled with nightmares and pain. He woke the next morning to make Sherlock and John's breakfast, startled to find the detective already seated. "S-sir?"

"You're going back," Sherlock said, knowing he was being cruel and driving it home. "I can't stand you. I'm sick of you and your incompetence, you piece of shit, do you understand? You're disgusting and awful and I'm giving you back for something better."

John yawned, blinking blearily over at the clock on the wall. It was early, six o'clock, but the military man in him roused him with the sun. "Alright, fine," he grumbled, climbing out of bed. He re-made the covers so there'd be less work for Jim and pulled his dressing gown over his shoulders before heading downstairs for a bit of reading. He stopped when he heard voices.

Jim shook his head a little. "Sir, I...I'm sorry, please. Please, I've tried. I've tried so hard to be good, I'm sorry don't send me back, please," he begged. _You killed Mr. Sebastian for me. You...you took away the only thing close to happiness I've ever had and John doesn't have enough money for me- oh god they'll beat me..._

"No. No sorry’s. Doesn't matter. You've got this last day of work and tonight I'm giving you back to be processed."

John swallowed. _I need to call my bank. Now._ He sat on the steps and dialed the number, entering the information. _Please, please, let me have enough._

Jim was shaking. He'd been through so many owners already. Processing was...was torture, utter torture. He'd rather be thrown down the stairs again.

"God, you're pathetic. Go make fucking breakfast you useless piece of shit."

John listened to the automated voice. _Just over fifteen thousand pounds. I don't know if that's enough..._ His left hand, clutching the phone, stilled as he heard Sherlock's words. The doctor stood and walked through the door, hanging up his phone. He wasn't limping. "Good morning, Mr. Holmes," he said, barely able to disguise his contempt. "Good morning, Jim." He took a seat at the table, head held high, prepared to intervene if Sherlock lashed out.

"Good morning, Dr. Watson," Sherlock said. He frowned. "Jim?"

Jim nodded to John and started cooking, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

"I looked through the online records," John lied easily, "when I couldn't sleep. Your man's name is Jim, though I doubt he's heard that in many years."

"Didn't know it had a name."

Jim hadn't heard someone call him by his name in many, many years. Hearing John do it made his chest swell. Like he might have been a person.

"Of course he does."

Sherlock opened the paper and stayed silent.

Jim kept cooking, petrified still.

John opened his book. _I stood down for my father. I won't back down to Sherlock._

Jim served them both food and coffee and went out of the room to make the beds and start cleaning.

John thanked him, flashing the man a smile before taking a sip of his coffee.

Jim had to admit the smile made him feel a little better and he went to Sherlock's room, carefully making his bed and tidying the bathroom. He put clothes in the hamper and took it to the laundry room before going up to John's room. He looked at the partially made bed and smiled a little. _He's too kind._

John began to eat his breakfast, careful not to make a sound. Normally he had a habit of eating... well, loudly, and he was already toeing the line as it was with Sherlock.

Jim came back down awhile later and cleared the plates and cleaned the dishes, expression distorted in discomfort as his hands pinched.

John frowned. _I need to take a look at his hands, if Sherlock disappears at all._

Jim got the dishes put away and straightened up the living room, getting the broom out to sweep the kitchen, wincing again.

John couldn't ignore it. He set his book down. "Jim, would you like me to take a look at your hands?"

"When it's finished." The detective didn’t look up from his paper.

Jim glanced at John and kept sweeping, getting to the living room as well.

John hoped the broom wouldn't cause him too much pain.

Jim finished about fifteen minutes later, refreshing their coffee and standing by.

John smiled and lifted his cup as he rose. The limp was back. "Alright, come with me. I'll use my own supplies this time. My bag's in my room."

"Yes, sir.” Jim followed him upstairs, glad that Sherlock was ignoring them.

John closed the door behind them and motioned to the bed. "Have a seat, please." He pulled his bag from under the bed and pulled out fresh gauze, neosporin, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and a cotton ball.

Jim sat down as instructed, sighing again at the comfort.

John unwrapped his hands and pulled the cotton pads back, wincing. The wounds were irritated. "Do you know how much it'd be to buy you, Jim? Because I don't, and it's important."

"For me?" He rasped, shrugging. "Three, four thousand pounds."

John looked up at him. "Really?" He started dabbing peroxide on the cuts, watching them bubble. "Well, that's wonderful."

"Yes, sir," Jim winced. "John. I'm too old and too used to be sold for more." He tensed and hissed, breathing through it. "It is?"

John smiled up at him. "Sherlock's taking you back tomorrow, and I'm coming with. And I'm going to buy you. No more beatings, no more cots. I promise."

"I'd take a cot over the mattress pad on the floor," he said softly. He swallowed, knowing what the processing was going to be like.

John began to massage the cream into his palms, warm hands gentle. "Sherlock told me it shouldn't take more than an hour. And then you get to come home with me. And you can have the bed."

Jim stared at him. "I...I, what?"

"You are going to sleep in the bed, and I will sleep on the floor, until I can afford a place with an extra bedroom."

"I...I don't understand. You can't..." He shook his head.

John frowned. "I can't what?"

"I'm not supposed to be treated better than you."

John chuckled. "Jim. You deserve it. When you're mine, I can treat how however I want, and that's going to be 'very bloody well'."

Jim nodded, head down. "Yes, sir." Maybe it was true. Maybe John was going to do everything he said. Or maybe he wouldn't.

John began to rebandage his hands. "Jim. No more of that. Please. I'm not in some station above you. I'm really not."

Jim touched the back of his neck. "Yes you are."

John sighed. "I don't see it that way. You're a man, just like me, trying to handle the cards you were dealt. And I'm going to help lift that burden, for as long as I can. Unless something happens to me, and I... and I stop existing, I'm going to take care of you."

Jim looked up at him, gasping a little. "I...John, please don't let anything happen to you." It happened once, and so soon, so soon and that was the only kindness he'd ever been shown he didn't want to do that again. He couldn't... "Please, not if you're going to be kind to me."

John's eyes grew sad. "I don't plan on anything happen to me. I'm not deployed, I live off a comfy pension, and I have no enemies. I'm not going anywhere, Jim, and I am going to be kind to you. Forever.

He's going to keep me too? For...forever? There's no way. "I...thank you, sir. John. John, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"I keep messing up what I'm supposed to call you."

John smiled again. "You'll get used to it, Jim. It's okay."

Jim was still confused and his head hurt. But he was going to go with him. With someone that said they wouldn't hurt him. And he could hope...maybe.

"Does anything else hurt?"

"My whole body hurts, s...John," he whispered.

"Would you like something for the pain?"

Jim frowned. "Like what?"

"I have... tylenol, ibuprofen, aspirin, advil, midol, and a few stronger things."

Jim's brows rose. "You want to give me medicine?"

"Well, yes. To help with the pain. I'm a doctor, after all, and I want you to feel better."

"I...really?"

John nodded. "Yes, Jim. I hope someday you'll believe me."

"I'm sorry. I've just...never been allowed that before."

"...Never? In thirty years?"

"No sir. I've been given shots at the agency, but no, no medicine that wasn't vital to keeping me alive."

John frowned. "Alright. That's... god. I wish I could save you right now, but I have to go through the proper channels. Alright, here." He popped open his ibuprofen and handed two to Jim. There was an unopened bottle of water in his bag, which he fished out and handed to him as well. "Do you know how to take pills?"

Jim gingerly took them from him, folding his lips and shaking his head.

"Okay. You put them in your mouth, you take a drink, and you swallow everything at once."

Jim did as instructed, the pills leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, but he didn't complain. "Thank you."

John smiled. "You're welcome. In about fifteen to thirty minutes, they should kick in."

"Will it hurt?”

"I... No, it won't. Your pain will go away- most of it, at least."

Jim nodded, unsure what to do with the water.

"If you're thirsty, you can drink some more.”

"I...? Thank you." He took another drink, downing half the bottle in one gulp.

John smiled. "Let me know when you're done, and we'll head back down."

Jim looked from the bottle to John. "I can have the whole thing?"

John nodded. "Of course you can."

Jim drank slowly, careful.

John stood up and started to pack his medical supplies away once more.

Jim finished the bottle with a relieved sigh. "Thank you."

John put the cap back on and put the empty bottle in his bag. I'll refill it later. "Ready?"

Jim stared at the door, dread in his features. But he nodded all the same.

John placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Soon, Jim. It'll all be over soon, and you'll be safe." He opened the door and motioned for him to step outside.

Jim didn't know what safe meant, or if he was dreaming, or if John was telling him the truth or not. He supposed he'd find out soon enough. He stepped out into the hall, trying not to shake.

John headed downstairs, Jim in tow. _I wish I could just keep you safe until tomorrow, but I know Sherlock won't let me._

Jim kept moving, his head down and went back to the laundry.

John took a seat in the living room and continued to read, trying not to worry so much about the upcoming day.

Sherlock was busy in the kitchen, eyes glued to his microscope. He sighed, leaning back and look at pictures. "Come here!" He barked, waiting for the slave to come in the room. "Turn around." He took the rope from the table and looped it through the slave's wrists, tying it tight, watching for the circulation to slow with this certain knot.

Jim jumped when Sherlock yelled and immediately came into the kitchen. He did as he was told, trembling. His eyes snapped shut when the rope went around his wrists, breath shaking. He bit his lip to keep from whimpering.

John frowned and looked up from the sofa. _What in the world?_

Sherlock glanced at John. "An alibi depends on this."

John looked from him to Jim. He wasn't okay with this, but if it would help someone else...

Jim opened his eyes a moment, tears in them, flashes and waves of pain and agonizing memories making his heart thunder. God, he couldn't breathe...

John noticed the terror in his eyes. "Mr. Holmes. Why don't you test that on me, instead?"

Sherlock frowned. "This is what it's for. Just relax."

John stood. "Please. Sherlock. He's terrified. I don't mind doing it instead, honestly.

Sherlock sighed, looking at it. "I'm halfway through this already. It's fine. Should be used to this by now."

John bit his lips and moved to the kitchen, sitting nearby. _I'm here. I won't let him hurt you. I'm so sorry._

Jim swallowed and waited, trying to breathe and see straight. A single tear got to his cheek and he prayed Sherlock wouldn't see it.

John gripped his book a little tighter, trying hard to stay calm. God, hurry up, let him go!

Sherlock sighed when he it was done and untied him, pushing him away from him. "There, go finish the laundry."

Jim walked away when he was dismissed, staggering around the corner and leaning against the wall, sobs silent.

John stood up and followed him, ignore Sherlock's glare. "Jim?" His voice was soft and gentle. "Jim, can I talk to you?"

Jim straightened up and wiped his face, taking the clothes from the dryer and set to folding them. "Yes, sir."

"Jim." There was pain in the doctor's voice. "Are you alright?"

Jim sniffed. "I'm fine, sir." His voice was trembling.

John knelt down beside him. "Jim... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I should have tried harder to dissuade him."

Jim shook his head. "Nothing changes Master Holmes' mind, sir. It's fine." He was shaking again.

John swallowed. "It's not fine. Do you... do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what, sir?"

"What's bothering you."

Jim swallowed. "I...I don't like being tied up, sir.”

John nodded. "I'm sorry he did that to you. We just have to get through today, alright? And then everything will be okay." _You poor man. I'll take care of you, I swear, I'll do anything it takes._

Jim was still awed by his kindness and the way he spoke to him. "Nothing's ever been okay, sir."

John felt his throat tighten. "When I can get you to safety, it will be."

Jim couldn't get his hopes up. Not now, not ever, something always went wrong.

John held out his hand to Jim, still on his knees. "Jim. Take my hand, please."

Jim looked at it, then to John and back again. He hesitated but finally offered his hand to him.

John covered it with his other one. "I'm going to take care of you, Jim. I know you've had a hellish life, and you don't believe me, but I mean it. I'm going to do everything in my power to give you the life you deserve. Not this, not servitude, not being tied up, or starved, or thrown. You're going to be warm, and well-fed, and treated like a human being."

Jim jumped a little at the contact but let John hold his hand. He looked at him, swallowing. "Why? I...I don't deserve anything, sir, this is my life. I..." He didn't understand. "No one's ever treated me this way."

John smiled sadly. "I know. My only regret is that I'm going to be the first. You shouldn't have to deal with this, Jim. So I'm going to make it better. You're only four years younger than me, you know. I see... I see a lot of myself in you, and I just... I want to protect you, I want to make you happy, because no one ever did for me. And you have it... god, you have it so much worse than I ever did."

"That's how it's supposed to be, sir. That..." He ran fingers through his hair, a headache brewing again. "You don't make any sense, sir."

"John," he said softly. "I'm John. And maybe you need things to make a little less sense." His smile grew a little brighter. "Feeling okay?"

Jim cursed himself. "Sorry. I'm trying." He shook his head. "No, John, I don't feel okay."

"Is there anything I can do to help?”

Jim shook his head. "No, John, thank you."

John frowned. "Alright. I'm sorry. I'll... I'll give you your privacy." He patted Jim's hand gently and let go, moving back to the living room.

Jim coughed softly and stood with the basket, taking it into Sherlock's room to put everything away.

John sat down on the sofa, resuming his reading.

Jim put everything away, coughing into his sleeve again. Christ, not now.He went upstairs with John's fresh linens, taking a moment to hold the rail on the stairs. He was dizzy, coughing again. He shook his head and kept walking, going to change the sheets.

John decided to get dressed and headed up to his room.

Jim replaced the pillow cases and the sheets, righting the comforter with a scratch starting to build in his throat. He sniffed, straightening the room and collecting the clothes in the hamper, trying to make the next slave's first day as easy as he could. He coughed again, the sound getting wetter.

John paused in the doorway. "Jim. Your cough."

Jim jumped and spun around, startled. "It's fine, sir- John."

"If you're sick, I need to know. May I listen, to your breathing? I have a stethoscope in my bag."

"I can still work, John. I'll be good, I can do fine, I'm healthy, please."

"Jim, I want you to be safe. Please. I don't want anything to happen to you. All you'll have to do is sit and breathe, Jim, I promise."

Jim sniffed, lips folded. "What if...you won't want me if I'm sick. No one wants a sick slave."

"You're not going to be my slave, Jim. And I want you regardless."

Jim's lips trembled. "Then what do you want me to be?"

"My friend."

Jim frowned. "A friend?"

John nodded. "Yes."

"I don't know how to do that."

"That's alright. I promise, nothing's going to change my mind on this. Now will you please let me take care of you?"

Jim rubbed his eyes and sat down, lips shaking.

John took out his stethoscope and warmed it in his palm. "Can you lift your shirt for me, please?"

Jim looked at him a moment, curling into himself a little. He did as he was told, knowing about the bruises and vast scarring he would see when he did.

John bit his lip, frowning. "Oh, Jim... Okay, just... hold still, and breathe deeply for me." He pressed the stethoscope against Jim's lungs and listened.

Jim didn't meet his eyes, trembling and ashamed. He took deep breaths, trying not to cough.

John could hear the liquid in his lungs. He frowned harder. "Jim... You need antibiotics. I think you might have pneumonia. There's definitely a rattle, when your breathe. ...Don't be ashamed, Jim."

Jim looked up at him weakly. "They'll give me something when I go in tomorrow, John." He nodded, licking his lips. He put his shirt down immediately. "I...I don't want you to have to look at me, sir. John! Sorry."

John took his hand. "Jim. It's fine. I mean that. I've got scars too."

Jim jumped a little when he touched him. "Not like mine."

"Not for entirely the same reasons. Do you want to see?"

"If...if you want."

John let him go. He hung up his robe in the closet and unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders and hanging it over his arm. His twisted, puckered scar from the bullet stood out on his slightly tanned skin, as well as others crossing his torso. When he turned around, so Jim could see the ugly exit wound, he knew there was another jagged cut from a makeshift bayonet tied to a man's rifle. Other marks abounded, small burns, marks from shrapnel... and marks from his father.

Jim just looked, a little sadness and some relief in his eyes. He swallowed, speaking out of turn, but it just came out. "Your father hit you too?"

John nodded. "Yeah. I told you last night, a little bit. About the stairs. Beatings were... common, in our house. A lot of them left permanent marks. A lot of these are from the war."

"I'm sorry."

John shook his head. "It's fine. But see? Your scars don't put me off. I've got nasty ones of my own."

Jim said nothing and ducked his head.

John got into his drawer and pulled out a shirt, slipping it over his head. "Are you alright?”

"I have to be, John."

John sat beside him. "But you're not. What's bothering you, apart from being sick?"

"I'm scared."

“About tomorrow?"

Jim nodded, shaking.

"Are... is processing hard?"

Jim nodded again, hiccuping.

John frowned. "Do they... hurt you?"

Jim swallowed. "It depends."

"On?"

"What Sherlock says."

John swallowed. Fuck. "Would... would he lie, just to spite you?"

Jim sniffed. "M-maybe. I don't know. I've been given back so many times…”

"No more, after this," the doctor said softly. "I promise, Jim. Your life is going to change."

"I hope so."

John could feel his heart breaking. "I mean it. No matter what happens tomorrow, you are coming home with me, and dammit, I'm going to make your life better.”

Jim swallowed. "It was for a minute once and it got taken away. How do I know you won't get taken away too?" He blurted.

John smiled sadly. "Because I'm boring, Jim. Nothing happens to me."

Jim's lips trembled. "Promise?"

"I promise. I'm an old, crippled vet. Sometimes I take walks in the park, and I surf the internet. That is my life. And after tomorrow, I'll also take care of you."

"You're not old or crippled. Your limp's psychosomatic, your therapist said so," Jim whispered. He gasped a moment later, looking at him. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean..."

John smiled. "You remembered. Yeah, it is, but I can't... I can't make it go away. It still slows me down."

Jim swallowed. "You just need something to make you happy. You're lonely. And you don't feel useful anymore."

John nodded. "That's true, I don't feel useful at all. But I can still do some good. And I'm going to. With you." _I haven't been happy for many years, Jim._

"I shouldn't be talking to you like that. You should've hit me for talking to you like that."

John looked confused. "But, you're right. Why would I hit you?"

"Because that's what happens when I speak out of turn...That's why it's so hard for me to call you by your name."

"Jim. I will never hit you. Never."

Jim frowned. "But you're supposed to. If I misbehave."

"I don't care. I'm not going to lift a hand to you."

Jim shook his head, looking at him. "I don't understand you."

"It's simple. I'm never going to hurt you. I'm never going to take advantage of you. I'm never going to make you clean up after me. I'm going to feed you, and clothe you, and make sure you're clean and healthy, and hopefully, in time, you'll count me as a friend."

Jim felt tears well up in his eyes again. "No one's ever...No one's cared about me before and I don't know how that's supposed to, what I'm supposed to do."

John wanted to hold him, to comfort him, but he didn't want to scare him. He looked at Jim with a soft expression. "I care. And you don't have to do a thing."

"It's...it's going to take me a minute to get used to it."

"Good thing you're going to have the rest of our lives, then."

Jim blinked. "Our lives?"

"I'm not getting rid of you, Jim. When I buy you, you're going to be with me forever. If that's alright."

"You're gonna keep me?" He whispered.

John smiled gently. "I'm going to keep you, Jim."

"Nobody-" He swallowed. "I'm dreaming. Or I died. This can't be real."

"It's real Jim. It's real. You can pinch me, if you'd like. To make sure."

"I'm not supposed to touch you," he said immediately.

John looked at him. "Jim. It's alright."

Jim just looked right back.

John offered his arm. "Pinch me. It's okay. I promise you, nothing bad will happen."

"I can't do that, I can't."

"Why not?"

“Because I've spent thirty years being told not to touch someone higher than me and..." _I'm trained._

John licked his lips. "You can touch me, Jim. Just put your hand on my arm."

"I..." He looked at John’s arm and very, very gently put his hand on it.

John smiled. "I'm real, you're real, and this is really going to happen for you." He covered Jim's hand with his own, touch light, palm warm.

Jim gasped softly, swallowing and looking at him. "Okay."

John patted his palm and let him go. "Good."

Jim let him go, coughing again.

John frowned. "Are you... are you sure, that they'll treat you tomorrow?"

Jim nodded. "Yes. And they'll try to talk you out of buying me."

John chuckled. "They're welcome to try. I want you, and no one else."

"They'll tell you I'm old, I'm sick and I'm bad."

"And I'll say 'He's exactly what I need, thank you. No one else.'"

"You don't even know how many people have had me. You haven't read my file."

"I don't care about that, Jim. All that matters is now."

"You're sure?"

John nodded. "I'm positive. All I care about is making you safe."

"I don't even know what safe means,” he repeated.

"You will. Once we get back to my flat tomorrow, you'll have a warm bath and a good meal."

Jim stared at him. "I...warm?"

John nodded again. "Warm. With bubbles, if you want them."

Jim blinked. "I...don't know- What?"

"Bubbles. I like to take bubble baths, when my leg acts up. Or my arm."

Jim just looked at him, speechless.

"I'll even throw the towels in the dryer, so they're warm when you get out."

"Are you an angel?" He blurted.

John blushed. "Just a decent man.”

Jim shook his head. "There's gotta be more than that."

John smiled. "If you want me to be, I will be. But I assure you. I'm nothing special."

Jim had tears rolling down his cheeks in seconds. "No. No, you're very special. You're incredibly special."

John reached out and thumbed away one of his tears. "Just hang in there for me, yeah? It'll all be over soon. And... thank you. I'm glad you think so."

Jim jumped at the touch. "I do."

John kept his touch gentle, cupping his cheek. "We'll get through tonight, and tomorrow, and you'll be safe and warm."

Jim jerked away again. "Okay."

"Sorry."

"Just not used to it, sir."

John nodded. "I'll stop, I'm so sorry."

"You keep apologizing to me."

"Yes, I do."

"You're not supposed to do that either."

"Too bad," John replied with a small smile. "If I bother you, I'm going to apologize."

"Oh...okay."

John frowned. "Is that okay?"

"Of course." It has to be.

"I'll do my best not to make you too uncomfortable. I promise."

"Okay."

John smiled at him again. "Alright. Should I let you get back to what you were doing?"

Jim nodded, standing on shaky legs and coughing. "Yes, I think that's best."

"Alright. Are you finished in here? I, um. I should get dressed, properly."

Jim blushed and ducked his head. "I- Yes, s- John. I'm done." He took the basket and left the room. The moment he was downstairs a hand was around his throat and slamming him against the wall.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John almost loses patience.

John began to change out of his pyjamas, folding them up and tucking them back in the drawer. I might want to pack. As he was pulling up his jeans, he heard a noise downstairs. _Sod, I'm not decent... God, I hope that wasn't Jim._

Sherlock shoved the slave against the wall and growled in his face. "What the fuck were you doing up there for so fucking long, huh? What were you doing? Telling lies about how I treat you? Trying to get him to save you? He's lying to you, you know. He's not going to save you. He's going to let the agency deal with you and let you rot there. He doesn't give a fuck about you, you disgusting thing. Filthy as you are, how could anyone want you?" He gave his throat another painful squeeze and chucked him off to the floor. "Now clean the goddamn bathrooms."

Jim believed it. It made more sense than John actually wanting to help him. He fell to the floor with his crushed heart, clutching his throat and breaking into a coughing fit. He stood shakily, limping to the bathroom with bruises blooming on his throat. He cried as he cleaned, knowing that every bit of this was too good to be true.

John came downstairs, frowning. Jim was nowhere to be found. He carried his laptop under his arms and curled up in one of the armchairs, starting a bit of research on the slave agency and how it worked.

Sherlock sat down in his own chair with an agitated sigh, flitting through his phone.

Jim covered his mouth to stifle his crying, bruised and torn from the inside out. _I told you. I told you, I told you NOT TO GET YOUR FUCKING HOPES UP! How old are you? How long have you been doing this? God damn it!_

John rolled his eyes. _Let's see... healthcare process. That's a good place to start._

Jim knew tomorrow he'd have to go through that excruciating cleaning, the humiliating examination. Then shaved bare, plucked and groomed to perfection. Then he'd be back to the little room being kept alive and being still until he was to be sold. Or...or disposed of, if they didn't think healing him was worth it. He was sure now, now that John didn't want him, that he'd be dead in a week. At least then the might actually find peace.

John read for a good ten minutes before he decided to look for Jim. He closed his laptop and set it down. _God, why can't you leave him alone? Because he's hurting. He needs out of here. I never had an escape; I can help him, I can take care of him, I can give him what I never had. A safe haven._ John left the room, looking for him.

Jim coughed again, wheezing while he scrubbed the bathtub, tears leaking down his cheeks.

John heard him cough, near the bathroom. He knocked on the frame. "Jim..." He saw the spreading bruises, his breath slowing. "Oh, god, what did he do to you?"

Jim shook his head and kept cleaning. "Nothing sir," he said, face wet, voice breaking.

John frowned. "Jim, please. Did he hurt you?" _God, I wonder what the policy is for killing cruel bastards mistreating their servants._

"Yes, but it's fine," he sobbed. His hands were bleeding again.

John wished he could hold him. He saw the pink starting to spread through the gauze. "Jim, it's not. God dammit, I'll punch him right in his smug face. Stop scrubbing. Please, stop. I'm... I can't fucking wait. I can't, no. You're not doing this any more. I'll be back. If things get... out of hand, you might want to lock the door and hide in here, alright?"

Jim looked at him, eyes naked and confused. "Please. No. Don't go, don't leave. There won't be anything left when you get back. Please, just wait. Let me die there, let me die at that agency where I belong, but not here. Don't let him kill me. Please, just keep lying to me. Please..."

John knelt down. "I am not lying to you. He's not going to lay a fucking finger on you again, I will break them. Jim, I can't... I can't wait until tomorrow. I'm going to make him take us tonight, or I'm going to beat him unconscious and do it myself. Sherlock is a fucking monster, and I'm saving you. Tonight."

Jim shook his head. "Sir, please. There's...there's no way you can. There's a procedure. I have to be processed, sir."

John bit his lip. "Jim, god dammit, he choked you! You're sick, you're in pain, and you need help! I hate sitting here, feeling useless, knowing what he's doing to you! I have to talk to him, and dammit, I may have to rough him up, but I am going to do whatever it takes! I need to get you somewhere safe, somewhere he can't hurt you, I can't let him keep you here the rest of the day, abusing you like this..."

Jim winced when he yelled, flinching away and curling into himself. "If I finish the bathrooms I can go to sleep. He won't eat tonight and if-if you won't ask me for dinner I won't have to cook and I can sleep until tomorrow." He cried again, still curling away from him. "It's the only way. The only one that's legal."

John cursed himself. "Jim, I'm sorry, I'm not mad at you, god, no. I just want to carry you away from this hell. I'm mad at him, at what he does to you." He backed up. "Please, I'm... I'm really upset because of what he did to you, okay? It's not you. You clean, and sleep, and I don't need dinner tonight either. You rest, you get plenty of sleep, and tomorrow, you can come home with me and you never have to see this bastard again. Okay? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." He blinked away his tears, wishing Jim didn't see him so weak, so close to breaking. _I'll save you. I'll save you. God, I shouldn't have raised my voice, it was an accident, I'm just so done with Sherlock's shit..._

Jim looked up at him, sobbing softly, unraveling his body. He didn't know if he could believe him. He watched his eyes, the tears in them for a brief moment. "D...don't cry. It's close. It's almost done."

John swallowed. "I know, I know, if we just get through tonight... But your hands, Jim, they're bleeding again. I think he's going out of his way to hurt you, and I... God, it isn't fair..." He hung his head, vision blurring. _Triggering. That's what they call it, isn't it? It triggers you, John, it makes you feel that hopelessness, that dread, that pain..._

Jim took a chance, one that could've gotten him killed, and reached out, gently touching his arm. "I'm alright. I've had much worse."

John looked up and rested his own hand over Jim's. That didn't stop his tears. "That doesn't make it okay, Jim. God, it doesn't. I just... Soon. It'll be soon. Just... be careful. I'll try to stay close, okay? That way I can stop him."

Jim nodded. "Soon," he breathed. "Soon. But I have to finish the bathrooms."

John nodded and let go of his hand. He wiped his tears away and nodded. "Yes, yes, so you can sleep. Alright. I'll let you do that, then. Just don't... don't give up. Tomorrow. Your life changes tomorrow.”

Jim nodded and took a deep breath that ended in a wheezy cough. He kept scrubbing the tub.

John left his side reluctantly, returning to his chair.

Jim finished the bathrooms quickly, his bandages bloody on his hands. He stood with them clasped, head down. "It's done, sir."

Sherlock glanced at the slave. "Go." He sneered at it as it left, shaking his head and going back to his phone.

John was just glad Sherlock didn't raise a hand to him. _Small favors._

"Thank you, Master Holmes." Jim left the room, masking his cough as he went. He got down the stairs to bed, lying on the floor on top of the mattress cover, wrapping the blanket around him.

John continued to browse information on the slaves and how they're bought and processed, keeping an ear out for Sherlock's movements.

Jim coughed, feverish now, settling into a fitful sleep.

John furrowed his brow. There's no waiting period, is there?

Jim had such awful nightmares that night, of being locked away and never being let out. Of John laughing at him and leaving him with Sherlock. Sherlock's thin, skeletal fingers around his throat and choking the life out of him, the baritone laughter swelling in his ears. Each time he woke he cried harder, so scared.

Sherlock looked up at John. "If you have questions about buying it tomorrow you can ask me."

John closed his laptop. "Is there a waiting period?"

"No, you just have to wait for the processing."

"And what if the man is sick?"

"They get examined. If they're sick enough they keep them until they're well or dispose of them."

"...Dispose?"

"Yes, they get rid of them."

"...Kill them?"

Sherlock sighed. "Yes, they kill them. They get too old, too sick or too weak and they kill them. They give them a shot and they die."

John felt a twinge of nervousness in his gut. "And if you... if you want, the sick one, regardless of it's state... will they let you have it?"

"It depends on who you are. If you're a doctor, they might release it."

John let out an audible sigh of relief. "Good. Good. Thank you."

Sherlock frowned. "You're welcome. Now why do you care?"

John knew Jim was trying to keep it quiet. "Just in case."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Is it sick?"

"I'm not sure if he is, he'll need the checkup tomorrow."

Sherlock just nodded.

John hoped his credentials were enough to get Jim released to him. He couldn't let anything happen to the man, he simply couldn't.

Jim dreamed about cages, about glass rooms where people passed by and viewed you like livestock. He dreamed of awful, horrible hands and devices meant to clean him while he was strapped down and helpless to move. This would be his life tomorrow. This would be the hell he would have to endure and the triggered memories that would come with it. He didn't want that. He wanted to sleep. Not wake every 45 minutes crying and wishing there was something more here than this thin blanket.

John opened his laptop and decided to check his emails, something he hadn't done in days. _Just a few more hours, and we'll sleep, and then we'll head out._

Sherlock stood. "I have to leave. Be back in a few hours. Duty calls and all that," he said with a small smile, shuffling down the stairs and leaving with his things.

John nodded at him, returning the expression. As soon as he was out, John hobbled up the stairs. He refilled his water bottle and carried the comforter he'd brought from his flat down to Jim's room, where he knocked.

Jim jumped awake at the sound, standing and placing himself in the middle of the room, shivering and coughing. "Come in."

John opened the door. "I brought you a better blanket."

Jim frowned. "Why?"

"Because you're sick, and you need it. I... Sherlock told me, a little, about what happens, in processing, and... I'm a doctor. I'm going to fight for you, Jim, I swear. But I need you to feel better tomorrow, just in case. So I brought you my comforter."

"That...that's very kind of you," he rasped, swaying where he stood.

John offered him his hand. "Come on. Let's get you back in bed. And warm."

"Okay." Jim hesitated to take his hand, but did so, shuddering openly.

John led him over to his mattress and helped him onto it, wrapping the blanket over his body and tucking it in around him.

Jim wasn't sure what to do or how to handle this situation. He lied on the thin piece of cloth, sighing when the blanket enveloped him. He shut his eyes, tears in them, looking haggard and weak.

John bit his lip. "I'd let you lay on my bed if I thought for a single second you'd be safe from Sherlock."

"This is the most comfortable I've ever been," he breathed. "Thank you." It smelled like John.

John reached out and brushed Jim's hair back with his hand. "You're welcome, Jim. I'm going to stay up all night and make sure he doesn't bother you."

Jim flinched a little, not used to good contact. "You don't have to do that for me. You don't have to do anything for me."

"I don't have to. But I'm going to."

Jim had to force his eyes to stay open. "Thank you."

"You can sleep, Jim, it's alright." The doctor gave his hair one final stroke before he stood. "I'll see you in the morning." He closed the door behind him and moved back to the living room, deciding to do some writing.

Jim sighed at the touch this time and buried himself in the blanket, breathing the smell of something human in deeply. Someone kind and warm, and it was enough to chase his nightmares away.

John looked at his blog. _I don't approve of slavery, but I understand the reasoning for it in our society. Economic strains, desperate families… That being said, slaves are humans too. They aren't property. They don't deserve beatings, or starvation, or pain simply because they belong to a different caste. I'm shocked, I'm appalled, that this behavior exists._ He was typing it in his drafts, simply venting, knowing he might never publish it. He never published anything on his blog.

Sherlock came back some hours later to angry and rushed typing. He frowned as he stepped into the living room. "Are you alright?"

John glanced up and smiled, just a little one. "Yes, I'm fine. Just doing a bit of writing." He told the post to save and opened an actual word document. "Plotting. War stuff. Gets me a little riled."

Sherlock nodded and sat back down, returning his smile. He looked at him a moment before speaking again. "You're...you're not staying, are you?"

John had wondered if this would come up. "Sherlock, I... I can't. I've lived in... I've lived in an environment like this before, and it..." _God dammit, am I crying?_ He cleared his throat. "I can't go through that again, Sherlock, I just... I can't."

Sherlock frowned, genuine apology in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I am. I didn't...I didn't mean for it to upset you so much."

John sniffed. "It's... you didn't know."

"I didn't. But I didn't help either." He leaned forward with his elbows resting on his legs. "But you do understand I treat it no differently than most other people, don't you? That you treating it like an equal is nearly unheard of."

John swallowed. "I'd save them all if I could. I don't care how other people treat them. They're people. With feelings. With bodies that can feel pain. They have memories, of a lifetime of abuse, of suffering. And they don't have the luxury of having people who care. All these... these bastards, that look at them and see another appliance, another item, it's... they do the best they can, even with broken spirits and broken hearts, they take it, they take every beating, sitting quietly, just waiting for it to be over, for them to die, or be taken back, with the hopes someone... someone like me comes along... but they never get someone like me, because people like me don't own slaves." He let his tears fall unchecked. "You know my father... my father threw me down the stairs when I was fourteen. Broke my arm, my nose, fractured a few ribs. Locked me down there in the dark for two days. No food. No water. I screamed myself hoarse, begging him to let me go, or to kill me, as long as I could get out... I can't take it, Sherlock, I can't. I'm going to purchase Jim, and I'm going to take him somewhere that's safe. Somewhere he doesn't have to deal with a man who hates his guts and just wants him dead. He deserves better than that, after thirty bloody years of this shit."

Sherlock listened, honestly listened, watching him, eyes darting back and forth as if he were processing something, looking something like a machine downloading what John had said to him. "I didn't realize you felt so strongly about this. I'll sign it-" He paused. "Him. Over to you immediately." He stood, pausing in the doorway of his bedroom. "I'm sorry that this couldn't work, John. I really am." He disappeared without another word.

John wiped his tears, cursing his weakness. _I know, I know how he feels, trapped and useless, treated like nothing. I'd save everyone if I could, but I'm just an old cripple. I can save Jim, I can give him a good life, and then maybe mine'll mean something._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes we did a time jump.

Jim stepped into the building with Master Holmes and Doctor Watson and was immediately snatched away. He entered another room, led by people in uniforms and gloves. His clothes were ripped away immediately, bandages as well, and he was shoved into the showers. He didn't have time to brace himself before the icy water jets were spraying against his skin, stinging like needles. The soap came next, stinging his pores and making his open wounds fester. He screamed.

John sat in the waiting area with Sherlock, his medical license and military identification on hand. _Please, be okay, Jim._

Sherlock filled out the paperwork accordingly and passed it to John. "Sign your name. Check the box that says you'll take him in the condition he's in, that you were in the military and that you're a doctor. You'll get him cheaper that way."

John did was he was told, hands surprisingly still. He read over it three times, making sure everything he did was right, before passing it back. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Sherlock replied quietly, still feeling guilty.

Jim was still crying while he was being dried. Shots went into his skin next, multivitamins shoved down his throat. He was shaved next, waxed and his eyebrows were plucked. Baby-faced and aching, they took him to the medical room next.

John managed a smile. "Couldn't do it without you, Sherlock."

"You wouldn't have to do it if not for my behavior, either."

John nodded. "Yeah. That's... very true. Just... try to be kinder, to your next one, yeah? I know you're... I know you're upper class, but they're... they're just like me. I was one missed bill from being a slave as a kid. I just... I know. I know what they go through. I know you can't, but... try."

"I won't be getting another one."

John looked a little surprised. "Oh?"

"I don't...want to disappoint you. So no."

"You have pneumonia," the on-site doctor told the slave. Jim said nothing, and kept his head down. "Your buyer needs to know. I'll be back." She stepped out, walking to the lobby and smiling at John. "Dr. Watson? It seems the slave you're interested in currently has pneumonia. Do you still want it or would you like another look at our selection?"

John opened his mouth to say something to Sherlock, when the woman appeared. "I want him. I can afford antibiotics."

Sherlock looked up at the both of them. "You're certain, sir? It's old and been through quite a bit. Oh," the girl handed John a file. "You're entitled to all his information, those are your copies.”

John took the papers with a smile. "Yes, he's old, and he's been through a lot. And he's the only one I want."

Sherlock chuckled a little. The girl nodded and smiled back. "If you say so, sir. We’ll get it medicated accordingly. Oh, and we need you to pick a uniform." She handed him a chart showing several different options: White pants and a white T-shirt, just the pants, a sort of twisted white underwear and nothing. The bare option had a star beside it.

John frowned. "The first one, please. What's, um. What's the asterisk for?"

"The one that's been most chosen for the slave you want," Sherlock said softly.

John closed his eyes. "The white uniform." _Oh, Jim..._

Sherlock kept his head down. The woman smiled and went back to the room where Jim was.

John turned back to Sherlock, a little uncomfortable. "Was it the option you picked?"

"No," he answered immediately. "No, I didn't want to see what it- what he looked like without clothes. I'm sorry."

John sighed, relieved. "You're not a bad man, Sherlock. You're cruel, but I don't think you're bad."

Sherlock nodded. "Thank you, John."

Jim was terrified, coughing, fevered and swaying in the middle of the room, shaking and whimpering. He looked up when the woman came in, scared. "We're prescribing you antibiotics." She set clothes on the table. "Put that on." He got dressed, chest swollen for reasons other than the pneumonia. She combed his hair and checked his appearance several times before she led him out to John and Sherlock.

John turned around, smiling warmly. "Hey," he said gently. "Anything else we need to do?"

Jim kept his head down, still freezing and swallowing coughs. She smiled and shook her head, handing him the prescription. "No, sir. If you have any issues with it or need to contact us for any reason please do. Otherwise we hope you're happy with your choice." She stepped aside and Jim stepped forward. "I'm here to service you any way you see fit, Master," he said, rehearsed and quiet.

John wished he didn't have to do this. "Thank you, very much." He looked over at Sherlock. _So handsome, such a darkness in him_. "Is it alright if we come by and get my things?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, that's fine."

"Wonderful, thank you. Alright, shall we?" The doctor waited for Sherlock to lead the way, following behind him. As soon as they were outside, he held his hand out to Jim. "We'll be home soon."

Jim looked at him and his hand, glancing over his shoulder at the agency. Slowly, he took it.

John smiled as they walked. "We'll get you clothes tomorrow."

"These are my clothes, Master," he said softly, confused.

"John. My name is John. And I mean proper clothes, not... not a uniform."

Jim swallowed. "I, um...J-John I can't wear clothes like that outside."

"Why not?"

Sherlock "It's against the law," Sherlock said over his shoulder. "Slaves eat in different areas at restaurants, go through different lines to buy groceries, sit in certain areas of the tube… if they can't see the barcode or identify them as such you get fined."

John sighed. "That's a load of shit. Alright. What if the barcode shows?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Usually places won't let you in if they aren't in their uniform."

John groaned. "Dammit. Alright. And if... what if you pay off their debt?"

"The barcode gets removed and if they have nowhere to go they go through a rehabilitation program that teaches them how to live again. If they've been there long enough."

John wondered if the papers would state how much Jim owed. "Oh. Alright."

Jim knew there was no way his would ever be paid. After thirty years it wasn't possible.

"They have to be freed as well. Debt paid and the owner can either free them and pay them to keep working for them and they get their rights back or...not free them until they're through with them."

John nodded. "So, if you pay your slave's debt, and free them, would they be allowed to stay with you of their own free will?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. Some do it to help them cope better."

John smiled. "Alright. That's... that's not so bad, actually. Something to work towards."

"He owes fifty thousand pounds, John."

Jim ducked his head, ashamed.

John shrugged. "That's fine. I can work with that.”

Sherlock smiled at him almost admirably. "Alright.”

John held Jim's hand the whole way to Sherlock's flat. "Mind helping me carry things to the cab, Jim? That's all I'll ask of you today."

Jim looked at him and their clasped hands. He nodded. "Y-yes, John. I can do that."

John only let go when they were inside. "I'll be up in a moment, alright? I want to talk to Sherlock for a minute."

Jim nodded. "Okay," he said softly.

John flashed him a smile as he mounted the stairs. When he was gone, he turned to Sherlock and held out his hand. "I want to thank you."

Sherlock looked at his hand and took it. "For what?"

"Trying. To be... better. What you said, back at the agency, it didn't go past my notice. I appreciate it. And... and for letting me take Jim. It doesn't... it doesn't make what you did right, but I'm still glad for it." He pulled the taller man into a quick hug. "Thank you."

Sherlock was surprised at the contact. "I'll...try to keep being better."

John let him go, smiling. "That means a lot to me. Would like my number, to keep in touch?"

"Yes, thank you."

John pulled out his wallet and took out a card, writing his number on the back in pen. "Here you go."

Sherlock smiled weakly at him. "Thank you."

John smiled back. "You're welcome, Sherlock. I'm going to go help Jim." He headed up the stairs toward his room.

Jim was hastily packing things away, ignoring everything his body was trying to force him to stop doing. He needed to be good for John, he needed to be the best. Someone this kind deserved as much and he couldn't be given back again.

John came into the room. "Hey, Jim. I appreciate the help. I promise, when we get home- a warm, private bath, and dinner. What do you like to eat?"

Jim jumped when he spoke, still piling clothes in the box. "I...I don't know."

John placed a hand on his shoulder. "Anything you want, that we can order in.”

Jim just looked at him. "John, I don't think you understand, I don't know what I like to eat. I just eat what I've been given over the years."

John frowned a little. "Oh... Okay, we'll... Chinese. We'll start with something easy. Lo mein."

Jim noticed the frown and bowed his head. "I'm sorry."

John reached out and lifted his chin. "It's not your fault, Jim."

Jim jumped a little again when he touched him. "It's not?"

John shook his head. "Nope. You can't help that you've been mistreated. You're going to have choices with me, okay? And I'm going to free you."

Jim swallowed. "F...free?"

John nodded. "Pay your debt and let you go."

“But...but I owe so much."

"I could take care of ten grand of it right now, leaving us one thousand pounds to live off of for the month. I'm only going to do nine, to give us some leeway in case my next check takes too long to come.”

Jim felt tears sting his eyes. "You...You're really...? You're sure you're not an angel and I'm not dead?" He choked.

John brushed his thumb over his cheek. "You're alive, and I'm going to do everything it takes to make you a free man, Jim."

Jim's breath hitched. "I...Thank you so much. I don't know how to thank you."

John smiled and withdrew his hand. "You don't have to do anything other than try to get used to your new life."

Jim swallowed. "I'll try."

John helped him pack. "Good. That's all I ask."

Jim nodded and kept packing things.

John took his suit out of the closet and sighed wistfully at it. _Can't bear to get rid of the uniform_. He hung it on his arm as he tidied up his bed and tucked his laptop into his medical bag. "Alright, ready?"

"I- If you are," Jim frowned, holding the boxes.

John took some of the load from him. "I am." He started down the stairs slowly, leg locking a little.

"John, John, let me," Jim said, taking the box back. "Your leg."

John shook his head. "You're not a slave remember? Law says you are, but not to me. I don't want you to have to take so much."

Jim swallowed. "And I don't want you to hurt," he said softly.

John smiled gently. "Alright. There's no stairs, at my flat, so you're going to let me help."

"Yes, sir," he said, an immediate response to a command.

John chuckled. "No more of that, Jim. I know it's hard, but you have to try for me." He opened the door for him.

Jim cursed himself. "I'm sorry. I'll try." He forced himself to walk through the door, still waiting on the landing for him to go ahead of him.

John headed down the stairs, Jim in tow, and opened the front door when they reached the bottom.

Jim stepped out, head down, holding the boxes and waiting.

John glanced around, looking for Sherlock to say his goodbyes.

Sherlock came downstairs, glancing at the two of them. "I, um, I'm sorry this couldn't work."

John smiled gently at him. "So am I. Keep in touch, yeah? You have my number." He offered the man his hand once more.

Sherlock shook his hand. "I will. Thank you. I..." He looked at the slave, trying to remember. "J-Jim? I'm sorry." He opened his mouth to say something else but spun around and went back upstairs with a grunt.

John couldn't help but feel a little affection toward him, even though the man terrified him. He closed the door to Sherlock's apartment and hailed a cab.

Jim's brows shot up, eyes wide. He watched Sherlock go, coughing softly, unsure if he could move.

John took a few of the containers from him. "Medicine, bath, dinner. Then we'll get you into bed, a proper bed, because I'm sure you're exhausted."

Jim snapped out of it and loaded the car. "Proper bed?"

"Mhm. I told you. You get mine all to yourself. It's not much, but it's far better than what you had here."

"B-but where will you sleep?" He asked the doctor softly.

John smiled at him. "On the floor. Until I can get us a bigger place."

"But...but I'm supposed to..."

John shook his head. "I know. You have thirty years of being told everything has to be done a certain way, and here I am, turning everything on its head. You'll get used to it, in time."

"Makes my head hurt…”

"I'm sorry. I don't want you to hurt.”

Jim swallowed. "When you've been doing something since you were three years old it...it's hard."

"I know, Jim, I know it's going to be difficult for you. Think of it as a pre-habilitation program, for when you're free.”

"I don't have to go to that if..." He ducked his head, stopping himself.

John smiled again. "If? You can speak, Jim, you're safe." He climbed into the taxi and patted the seat beside him.

Jim sat beside him, hands in his lap. "If someone else helps me."

"I'll be helping you, Jim."

"You don't have to," he said immediately.

"Jim. I want to."

Jim looked at him. "You're so kind."

"Thank you. I promise. Your life is going to be so much better now, Jim."

Jim wiped his eyes. "I want to believe that."

John offered Jim his hand. "Isn't it better already?"

Jim took it. "Yes, John," he said softly. "But...forgive me, but people are different when...when you're alone," he whispered, wincing away from him a bit.

John tilted his head. "What do you mean?" He rubbed a thumb over the back of Jim's hand absently.

Jim watched his thumb. "I-I mean that people buy a five year old little boy and tell the agency they need a playmate for their son and-and they really want a whipping boy and a toy for their husband," he trembled, a tear sliding down his cheek. "They aren't what they seem."

John bit his lip. "Jim. I will never touch you if you're uncomfortable with it. I'll draw your bath, but leave when you're ready to undress. I'll never invade your personal space. I won't raise my voice to you, I won't make you touch me, I won't drug you, or hurt you. You'll be your own man, we'll just happen to be flatmates." _Oh my god, you poor thing. I'll keep you safe. Christ, Jim, no one should have to experience that._

Jim whimpered softly, a quiet sob. "Swear?"

"I swear on my life, Jim."

Jim swallowed, still crying. "I'll try to be normal."

John smiled. "You don't have to be normal, Jim. There is no normal. All I ask is that you don't treat me like a superior. I'm not, I'm not anywhere above you."

"If you say so."

John "I know so."

Jim steadied his breathing and sat rigid in the seat, careful not to touch anything and keep himself from giving as much contact to the seat as possible.

John let go of his hand, seeing his discomfort. "We'll be there soon, Jim."

Jim swallowed. "Okay."

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know," he said truthfully.

"Worried about this?"

Jim nodded, ashamed.

"You'll see soon." He sat quietly until the taxi stopped. The doctor climbed out and opened the trunk, collecting most of his luggage.

Jim tried to take something, ending up with the light things, something twisting in his insides.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim spends his first night at John's small flat.

John unlocked the door and stepped in, carrying everything over to his bed. The flat was essentially one room, a small island between the kitchen and the bedroom/living room, the bathroom behind a closed door. John set everything down. "Alright, you can set those anywhere. You need your antibiotics first, and then you can have your bath. I have a pair of pyjamas you can sleep in. They're going to be a bit big on you."

Jim set the things on the ground and pushed them against the wall. "I...pajamas?"

John nodded. "Yes." He pulled out the bag with Jim's medicine and moved to his dresser, pulling out a pair of soft cotton pyjamas- shirt and trousers. He handed them to Jim. "I'm going to draw the water, alright? Bubbles? Would you like some, that is."

Jim took them, looking at them a moment, running his hand over the material. He was so awed it took him a moment to answer. "Um. I don't. I don't have a preference. I don't know."

John nodded. "You'll have them, then." He stepped into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. He fiddled with it until it was just right, and then he plugged the drain and poured a little soap into the water. "Alright. Now." He opened his fridge and took out a jug of orange juice, pouring Jim a class. The doctor removed two antibiotic pills from the bottle of medication and handed them to him, along with the cup. "There you go. And when you finish your juice, the bathroom's all yours. Take as long as you want."

Jim took the juice with another wide eyed stare. He took a sip and gasped, just looking at it. He took the pills like he'd taken the others, draining the glass with relish. He put the glass down and looked toward the bathroom, edging that way.

John started to unpack, giving Jim privacy.

Jim got into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it. He looked back at the bath and slowly started to undress. It looked...it looked incredible. He undressed slowly, putting his hand in. He gasped and instantly removed his hand, staring at the water. He pulled his clothes back on, swallowing and opened the door, peeking out at John. "This...I think there's something wrong."

John looked up. "Is it too cold?"

Jim shook his head. "No, it's warm."

John smiled. "I told you it would be. It's all yours."

Jim swallowed. "I didn't know if you... I really get warm water?”

John nodded. "Yes Jim. You get a nice, hot bath.”

"Oh...okay," he nodded, shutting the door again, clicking the lock. He undressed again, slowly lowering himself into the water. He moaned softly, submerging himself in the bath.

John finished putting his clothes away and started making himself a pallet on the floor.

Jim didn't move for half an hour, just breathing and allowing the water to work out the aches in his body.

John got out a menu and turned the bed down, making it ready for Jim. He finally lowered himself into his own little nest and stretched out.

Jim almost dozed before jolting awake, worried he'd get caught. He washed his hair and his body, hands aching as well as the welts on his thighs and the ligature marks on his neck. His fever made it that much harder to get out and dry off, dressing in John's pajamas. They were soft, warm and so wonderful. He tried to smooth his hair down and keep it wrangled before he stepped back out, head ducked.

John smiled up at Jim. "There's a menu waiting for you on the bed. Get in, get comfy, and look over it. You can have anything you want."

Jim did as he was told and got into the bed without a word. He looked through the menu, confused and getting a headache. "I...I don't know, John. I don't know."

John saw the pain in his eyes and sighed softly. "Alright. Should I order for you?"

“I don't know what I'm doing."

John took the menu from him and dialed the number on the front. "Two medium chicken lo meins, please. And one order of fried dumplings. Extra sauce." He rattled off his address and hung up. "That bed is yours now, okay? Get as snug and comfy as you want, I won't bother you. If you fall asleep, I'll wake you up when dinner gets here."

"I...okay." He wrapped the blankets around himself and nuzzled into the pillow, risking pain and beatings, but he didn't care. He was doing what he was told and he was so exhausted.

John smiled at him and fished out his laptop and his debit card. It didn't take him long to figure out how to make a payment on Jim's debt. Nine thousand pounds. Nearly one-fifth of the way there.

Jim slept, warm, medicated and clean, and not sterilized from that god awful place that shaved his entire body. He relaxed against him and slept soundly. For awhile.

John actually managed to make a blog entry. _I've made a friend today. He's staying with me until we can get him back on his feet. I really hope I can make a difference in his life. -JW_

Jim had nightmares very quickly. About darkness and pain and screaming. He whimpered in his sleep.

John sat up, frowning. Oh, god. He has them too. "Jim," he said quietly. "Jim, wake up. You're safe."

Jim squeaked, curling into himself and hiding.

John bit his lip. "Jim, it's John. Please, if you can hear me, it's okay, you're okay. Wake up, you've got to wake up for me, okay?"

 _Come here boy. On your fucking knees, now. Open those pretty lips. Fucking open them you disgusting whore. Open. There. Yeah you gag on it like a good little slut._ He sobbed, hiding further as he cried.

John felt his heart twist. "Jim, please, please wake up for me. Dinner will be here soon, don't you want to eat and talk with me?" He pressed down on the mattress, nudging it lightly.

Jim screamed himself awake, crying and shaking his head. "Please! Please, don't hurt me, please! I'll be good. I'll be good, Master, please don't hurt me anymore!" He begged, shielding his face as he backed into the corner.

John drew back, eyes burning. "Jim, I will never hurt you."

"I'm sorry. Please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" He sobbed, curling his knees to his chest with sleep clinging to his mind.

"Jim. Jim. Please, look at me."

Jim peeked from behind his hands, blinking, recognizing. "John?"

John nodded, smiling sadly. "You're safe, Jim."

Jim hugged his knees. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"For what, nightmares? Jim. I have them too. About the war."

Jim "I disturbed you," he whispered. "I upset you too."

John "May I come sit next to you, Jim?”

Jim nodded. "It's your bed."

"It's yours, Jim." Regardless, John stood and took a seat beside him, holding out a hand for him.

Jim took it gingerly, face wet.

John squeezed his palm gently, mindful of his cuts. "You have nothing to apologize for. I have night terrors too. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Jim swallowed. "You won't...you won't hit me?"

"Christ, no, Jim, I will never hit you."

Jim licked his lips. "Would..." He shut his eyes a moment. "I...I've always, always wanted someone to hold me."

John scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Jim's shoulders. "I think that's doable."

Jim almost instantly turned and wrapped his arms around his neck and clung to him, sobbing.

John held him close, smoothing his hair and letting him weep in his arms. "I've got you," he said softly. "You're going to be alright. I promise. Let it all out, Jim. You're okay."

Jim hugged him tight, trying not to hurt him, still convinced that this was a dream as he cried.

John hummed quietly, a soothing tune, possibly a lullabye he'd heard somewhere.

Jim hiccuped. "Wh-what are you doing?"

"Humming. Is it bad?"

"N-no. Why are you humming?”

"To try and help you calm.”

Jim nodded and kept crying, taking fistfuls John's shirt, clinging to him. "I-I'm sorry."

John smiled at him. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Jim. I'm here for you."

"You shouldn't have to be, that's not my job. That- You shouldn't be doing this."

John wished he could make Jim see. "Jim. You're not here as my slave, no matter what the law says. You're here to be helped, to be cared for, to be treated properly. I should be doing this, and I am. Because I want to, and because you need it."

"Nobody's- No one's ever cared," he whimpered.

"I care," John whispered. "I really do, Jim. I'm not going to hurt you. Ever.”

"Why do you care?"

"Because I'm a decent human being, for one. For another, I see a lot of myself in you. I've never had it quite so bad, though. God, what happened to me was... it was nothing, compared to your pain. And, well. I like you. You're nice, and you're good, despite all you've been through. I want to take your nightmares away, I want to help you heal, I want to make you happy."

Jim wiped his eyes, sniffling. "You're weird."

John chuckled. "Am I?"

Jim nodded. "Mister Moran wasn't even as nice as you," he croaked.

"Was he one of your previous owners?"

Jim sniffed and nodded. "Sherlock killed him," he whimpered. "O-only man who'd ever been nice to me..."

"I'm so sorry, Jim. I'm going to be kind to you too."

“Mister Moran yelled sometimes," he said softly, smiffling. "But-but he didn't hit me. I was only there for two months."

"I'm not fond of yelling. That time at Sherlock's was rare, and I wasn't upset with you. I was furious with him, for how he treated you. You won't get yelling here."

Jim had calmed some, letting him go as if realizing his mistake. "S-sorry." He bowed his head. "I shouldn't have... I believe you. Thank you."

John gently took his arms back. "Hey. Please look at me, Jim."

Jim did so, hiccuping.

John smiled. The expression was warm. "I don't mind holding you. I don't mind you talking about your past. I don't mind your nightmares. Okay? You have nothing to be sorry for."

Jim "I...I'm-" He sniffed. "Sorry- wait!" He shook his head, pressing fingers to his temples. "Oh-okay.”

"Want something for your headache?"

Jim looked at him. "Something?"

"Pain medication, like I gave you at Sherlock's."

Jim "Oh," he said, feeling dumb. "Yes, please."

John smiled and climbed off the bed. He reached into his bag and pulled out the ibuprofen, stepping into the kitchen and pouring him more juice. The doctor handed the pills and the cup to Jim just as there was a knock on his door. "Oh, good. Dinner's here." He went and retrieved the food from the delivery man and came back, setting a carton of noodles and a plastic fork on Jim's nightstand.

Jim salivated at the sight of the juice and took them graciously. The knock sent him standing so fast it made him dizzy , a step toward the door sending him right back down to the mattress. He stared at him, wondering if he should get up. He just looked at him, the smell of the food making his stomach writhe.

John opened his own carton. "You can eat, Jim. Go ahead. Just don't make yourself sick. Whatever you can't finish, I'll put in the fridge for tomorrow."

"That's all mine?"

John nodded. "Yep, every bite."

Jim scratched back of his neck. "Okay."

John took a bite of his own, eyes falling closed, a soft groan slipping from his throat. "Mmm. I'd forgotten how good it is."

Jim took a bite and gasped softly. He started eating very quickly, as if afraid it would be taken from him.

John continued to eat, eyes closed, trying to keep his noises quiet.

Jim had to stop less than a quarter of the way into it, stomach aching and full. He set it down almost guiltily.

John hummed and opened his eyes. "Full?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, sir. John."

John smiled and stood, taking the carton from the table and closing it. "Okay. I'm going to put it in the fridge. If you get hungry again, go right ahead and help yourself to it, okay?"

"I...okay," he nodded.

John finished his food, sighing a little when it was done. "Oh! Sod, I forgot." He pulled a tin of fried dumplings from the bag. "Would you like a dumpling? I know you're full, and I don't want to make you sick, but they're absolutely incredible. I even got you your own extra sauce, to dip it in."

"Um, sure? I've never had one, but I'd like to," he said softly.

John beamed. "Wonderful." He took Jim's fork and speared it through a dumpling, passing it back to him with a cup of sweet sauce.

Jim took the bite, humming when he did. "Wow."

John chuckled. "Good? They're my favorite food in the world."

Jim nodded. "Yes, very good.”

John smiled at him. "Good! I'll save most of these for you as well." He gathered the food and carried it to the fridge. "D'you need anything?"

Jim shook his head. "No. Thank you."

John got himself a glass of water and sat back down in his nest. "Want to try to sleep again?"

Jim frowned a little. "But I already slept."

"Are you still tired?"

"Well...yes."

John smiled. "You should go back to sleep then."

"I...I can sleep twice."

"Jim, you can sleep as frequently as you want."

Jim swallowed, looking down at his knees, coughing.

"Are you okay?”

"It's just...different.”

"I know, I know it is. You'll get used to it. I promise."

"So I can go to sleep now?"

John nodded. "Yes Jim. You can sleep."

"And you're sure you don't want your bed?"

"I'm positive. It's all yours, Jim."

"If you change your mind you can wake me," he said softly.

John smiled. "I won't change my mind. Just, be warned. I... I have nightmares too, like I said. So if I, if I make noise, please don't be scared."

Jim nodded. "I probably will be anyway," he whispered. "What, um, do I do if that happens?"

"If you get scared, or if I have nightmares?"

"If you have nightmares."

John chuckled. "Wake me up. Gently. I never lash out, I just... scream."

Jim nodded, not really understanding the humor.

"Or I could get you some ear plugs, so you don't have to deal with it."

"I want to help you. Like you helped me," he said softly.

John smiled gently. "Alright. Shake me, gently. You'll be in no danger, I swear. Call my name."

Jim nodded. "Okay."

John stretched out under his blankets and tucked a hand under his pillow. "Goodnight, Jim.”

Jim nuzzled back into the blankets, curled up and wrapped up tight. "Goodnight, John."

John closed his eyes and began to count, trying to urge himself to sleep.

Jim fell asleep almost immediately, clutching the pillow and backed against the wall.

John drifted off about a half hour later, sleeping fairly peacefully. There were a few times where he jerked against the carpet, and once where he groaned, but there were no screams.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim spends his first real day at John's, and they finally get to talk properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!

Jim whimpered a little every so often, too engrossed in sleeping to dream properly. The moment the sun was up and the light touched his eyes he woke, groggy, stiff and in immense pain. He got up anyway, forced himself to, careful not to wake John and started on breakfast, swaying and wheezing over the omelet he was making.

John woke to the smell of food. Stiff and sore, he stretched with a small yelp. "Mmm? Jim, no, sweetie, you don't have to do that."

Jim frowned and looked at him. "Yes I do." His eyes were puffy, fever high, looking gaunt and weak. He spread cheese and ham through the egg and turned it over, putting it on a plate and handing it to him with a fork and a glass of milk. He stayed standing, hands clasped, waiting.

"Jim, please, lay back down. I'll eat, but I'm going to bring you medicine, and you're gonna share this food with me, okay? I need you to get better- you're not going to lift a finger while you're here, okay?"

"So I'm not supposed to make you breakfast?" He rasped, then shook his head. "I'm not supposed to share food with you."

"Jim, we're doing things differently now." John smiled.

Jim ducked his head. "Sorry, I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's alright. You're going against thirty years of rules, it's going to take some time to get used to."

Jim nodded. "So...what do you want me to do?"

"Today? Well, would you like another bath?"

Jim's brows rose. "Another one?"

"Of course! You can have one every day, Jim. Hell, you can have multiples a day, if you want."

"And if I want...to sleep some more?"

"Then you can sleep as long as you like, and I'll try to keep quiet, so I don't wake you.”

"I can, I can just sleep? You don't have to be quiet, this is your flat."

John smiled. "Yes, Jim. You can just sleep. But you have to take your antibiotics first."

"Yes, sir. John. Yes, John," he nodded.

John smiled. "Want some juice with them? I also have soda, and milk."

"Um, I...I like the juice. I don't, um...I don't really know about the rest."

"Want to try a soda?"

"Sure," Jim nodded.

John stood up, plate in hand, and carried it to his desk. He set it down and walked to the fridge, getting a coke from the door and carrying it to Jim. "Pull up on the tab. It's fizzy, and it might burn a bit, but it's fantastic."

Jim nodded and took it from him. He pulled the tab up, jumping a little at the sound and took a drink. It didn't feel very good on his throat, but the taste... He moaned softly, surprised if anything and drank again.

John blushed a little and got his his antibiotic pills, handing them to him. "Don't forget those, they'll help with your fever."

"I won't, thank you." He took them and another drink. He burped a second later and clapped a hand over his mouth.

John giggled. "I should have warned you, sorry. The carbonation does that."

Jim flushed a deep pink. "Sorry." He drank slower.

John smiled. "It's alright."

Jim yawned a little and coughed. "Can, can I save this?" He asked, nodding to the can.

John nodded. "Of course you can. It might go a little flat, while you sleep- less bubbles, more syrup. Is that okay?"

"I suppose so," he said softly.

John put it back in the fridge and sat down at his desk to eat. "if you need anything, anything at all, please, let me know."

"I'll try.”

John smiled at him and began to eat, moaning quietly.

Jim blushed. "Is it good?"

John looked up. "Hm? Oh, yes, it's fantastic. You're a wonderful cook. Thank you."

"I- I am?"

John nodded. "Yes, Jim. You are."

"Th-thank you."

John beamed at him. "You're very welcome."

Jim scratched the back of his neck, unsure what to do next and got back in the bed.

John finished his half of the food and carried the plate over to Jim. "Food before you go back to bed?"

Jim just looked at him. "But that's for you."

"I'm full, and I told you I'd share it with you."

"Okay." He took it from him.

John stretched out on the floor, smiling.

Jim ate slowly, nodding in approval.

John closed his eyes. Not so bad, for a first morning.

Jim finished and got up to put the plate in the sink.

"Jim," he said softly, stopping him by the edge of the bed. "Leave on the nightstand. I'll take care of it."

Jim ducked his head and shied away, doing as he was told. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." John stood up and carried the plate to the sink, where he started on dishes. "It's safe to sleep, Jim."

Jim was uncomfortable, watching someone else clean and he wasn't being beaten for it. "You sure you don't need me to do that?"

John looked over his shoulder at him. "I'm certain. You just focus on feeling better, alright?"

Jim nodded. "Okay," he whispered, lying down again in the little ball he'd been sleeping in, curled and cautious.

John finished with the dishes and set them out to dry. "I'm going to take a shower. If you need anything, just call for me."

Jim nodded and shut his eyes, hugging the pillow to his chest.

John stepped in the bathroom and began to undress. When he was naked, he turned on the shower and stepped under the warm water.

Jim tried not to be afraid, he really did. Knowing that John didn't have clothes on, that he was lying here and very vulnerable he... He tried to force himself to sleep, shutting his eyes and trying to think of something happy. There really wasn't anything he had to think about.

John washed his hair and scrubbed his body. I can't do anything private. Not until I get a bigger place. God, I'd hate myself if he heard me- it'd probably scare him away. Not until the new place, then. When he finished, he toweled himself off and put his pyjamas back on. He came out fully dressed, dressing gown tied around his waist, and took a seat at his desk.

Jim jumped when the door opened and hid his face, clenching his hands in the pillow.

John frowned. "Jim? Are you okay?"

Jim nodded but didn't look up.

John furrowed his brow. "I'm dressed, you know. I don't go walking around skyclad, even in my own home."

Jim looked up a little, shaking.

John smiled gently. "I'm even wearing layers."

"S-sorry."

“For what?"

"B-being scared wh-when you've been nothing b-but nice to me," he squeaked.

"Listen, Jim, it's alright. You don't trust me yet. After all you've been through, I understand."

Jim ducked his head all the same, ashamed and confused.

John stood up and knelt beside the bed. "Hey. Want to talk about it?"

Jim sat up, hugging the pillow still. "I've...been used. A lot in my life."

John swallowed. "Sherlock... explained, some things, in your chart. I... gathered."

Jim bowed his head. "A lot of people bought me naked," he whispered, tears in his eyes. "Wh-when I was sixteen I...He bought me just for that. F-for sex. But not just with him, with anyone that came into the house. And a lot of the times it was a lot of men at once."

John bit his lip. "Oh my god, Jim. I'm so sorry."

Jim sniffed. "I've never felt more used, or-or less like a human being than I did then. And no matter how-how loud I screamed or how much I begged it didn't stop. I-I was a body and a mouth, I wasn't a person." He was crying now. "M-most slaves have another one with them, someone they can get close to and not be scared of and, and lose their virginity that way. I didn't get that, I didn't- He just shoved into me and made me feel like I was getting ripped in half. I bled all over and I screamed and I cried and I couldn't even think about anything to make it better," he whimpered.

John wished he could talk away all he'd suffered, all he'd lost at his owners' hands. It hurt, it made him ashamed of his society, of what people had put the man through. "Jim," he said softly. "May I hold you?”

Jim looked at him. "You...you want to do that?" He choked.

John nodded. "Yes, I do. I want to hold you, to comfort you, while you talk about these things. So you know you're safe. You'll never have to go through that again. So you know that I care about you."

Jim sobbed once and nodded. "Please."

John sat on the bed and pulled him gently into his arms, holding him close to his chest. "I'm so sorry, Jim, I am so, so sorry. No one will hurt you again. No one. If they try... well, they're going to have to go through me.”

"I don't u-understand why you want to protect me. It's been so long and no one ever wants to protect me, no one cares. No one cares about a boy that gets beaten so badly it breaks bones in his face because he asked if he could go outside, or the stuffed bear he got from a kid that didn't want it anymore gets thrown in a fireplace because he broke an ornament," he sobbed. "You can't call it abuse, you can't call it rape, you can't tell anyone you got molested, you can't find anyone that's going to give a shit about the welts on your legs from a fucking riding crop because of a barcode on your neck!" He slumped against him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't..."

John hated it, hated the system, hated the fact Jim had to go through all of that. "You're going to be free, Jim.You're never going to have to deal with that again. You have been through so much, Jim, more than any person should ever have to go through. I'm so sorry, so damn sorry that we didn't meet sooner, though if we had, I wouldn't have been able to bring you somewhere safe. I care. I care so much, and I know, I'm a stranger. It's weird, and you don't trust it, but I promise you. You'll get to know me, and maybe even consider me a friend by the time you're free. And you will be free. I've already made a payment."

"You did?" He croaked, shaking a little.

John nodded. "Yes. Want me to prove it?”

Jim "I believe you," he whispered. "But-but why? Why would you do that? I owe so much.”

"I told you, Jim. I want you to have a proper life, a good one. You're still young, only four years younger than me. You can still go out, experience the world to its fullest. Find a partner, settle down, and be your own man. I want that for you."

Jim's lips shook. "What about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"What are you going to do? If I ever g-get free."

John smiled. "Same thing I always do. Sit at home and read, try to write for my blog, go to therapy."

Jim wiped his eyes. "That sounds really lonely."

"I'm a pretty lonely bloke," John said quietly. "But that's alright."

Jim shook his head. "What if...what if I want to stay with you?”

John smiled. "If you wanted to, that'd make me happy."

Jim swallowed and nodded. "I...I think I'd like to," he whispered.

John felt a little dampness in his eyes. "I'm glad."

Jim hugged him tightly.

John hugged him back, chest twinging a little. I will never betray you. I will never hurt you. I swear on my life.

"I feel terrible," he whispered.

"Is there anything I can do to help? Is it the sickness, or the memories?"

"The kindness you're showing me, t-touching me without cringing or hitting me or... You're the best thing to ever happen to me."

John blushed. "Maybe so far. Something will better come along when we square your debt."

"In thirty years nothing has," he whispered. "And where would I find someone else that feels the way you do about slavery?"

John blinked away a few tears. "That's a fair point. I've never... definitely never been important to anyone before."

"You've let me eat, sleep, drink, take medicine, gave me different clothes and let me wash in warm water without asking for anything. You're the most important person in my world," he whispered, eyes wet. "Which might sound stupid."

John shook his head. "It doesn't sound stupid at all, Jim. I'm going to keep taking care of you. I promise."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Jim cried softly. "I'll try to act like I'm supposed to."

John smoothed Jim's hair. "You're not supposed to act like anything, Jim. Just be yourself. I know this has been your life for so long that you might not know who you are, but you can figure that out safely here."

"I...I don't. I have no idea who I am," Jim whispered.

"You've got all the time in the world to figure that out."

"So you...you don't think I'm old?"

John chuckled. "No. I don't think you're old. You're still young and handsome, I promise."

Jim frowned. "What?"

"You're young."

"Not that, the...the other thing."

John pinked. "Um. You're handsome."

Jim looked at him, eyes sad. "N-no, I'm hideous."

John furrowed his brow. "No, you aren't. You're beautiful. God, you are."

Jim swallowed and shook his head. "N-no one with a body like mine can be beautiful," he whispered.

John sighed. "Even scarred, even bruised, even with a fever, Jim. I mean it. You're a very good-looking man."

Jim looked down, everything in his being telling him it was a lie.

"Jim." John placed a finger under his chin and lifted his head gently. "Jim, I mean it. You're one of the most gorgeous men I've ever seen. It's a testament to how much I care about making you comfortable that I'm not my usual flirty self."

"No one's ever said that to me," he whispered.

"No one? That's... God, look at you. May I, um. Cor, this is going to sound strange. May I touch your face?"

Jim's lips shook. "No. No, everyone has told me how ugly I am," he whispered. He nodded all the same.

John started slowly, tracing the line of his brow with gentle fingers. "This is my favorite part of your face. You have such a beautiful curve to your brows. Delicate, almost. They really suit your eyes. And, damn, your eyes, Jim. They're dark. I noticed when we walked to Sherlock's yesterday- when the light hits them, they glow almost golden. And in the right lighting, they're black, so very black... and it's-" Arousing. No, I can't say that. "-heart-stopping." His hand smoothed over his cheeks and cupped his jaw. "Your jaw is strong, angled just right, sharp... You looked good with a bit of stubble, christ, you did. You look good clean-shaven too. Just as beautiful." One thumb brushed his lips. "Your lips are full, and I bet that when you're able to smile, you'll be able to charm an entire room of people with one single grin. Your neck is slender, and enticing, and your hands- though calloused- are strong, and absolutely perfect. I bet your fingers are nimble, from the work you've had to do around houses. You're beautiful, Jim, every inch of you, scars and all."

Jim had never in his life been told anything like that about his appearance. Not even close. He'd been told he was so very hideous, and weak, and disgusting, a whore a waste of fucking space but this...what John had said, no...no this was so different. It made his chest swell in what he hoped was a good way. John's hands were gentle on his face, not searching for anything more or trying anything just...just touching him. He did flinch a bit at the touch to his mouth. But he looked at him. "I..." He wiped his eyes. "Thank you."

John resumed hugging him close. "You're welcome. How are you doing?"

"I don't feel good and you're making my head hurt," he whispered.

John wilted. "I'm sorry. I'll let you get back to resting." He let Jim go and climbed into his nest on the floor.

Jim instantly felt empty and cold when John let him go. He sniffed, hiding his tears. "Okay." He said hoarsely, voice cracking. He hugged the pillow again and lied down.

John mentally kicked himself for making Jim feel worse. Way to go, John. He needs you, and you give him headaches.

Jim tried to cry as silently as possible, shutting his eyes and trying to pretend the arms were still there.

John heard him sniffle and looked up. God, dammit! Now I've made him cry. I can't do anything right.

Jim squeezed the pillow tighter and hiccuped a little.

"...I'm sorry," the doctor said quietly.

Jim wiped his eyes and looked at him. "I didn't mean for, for you to go. My head hurts because you're doing and telling me things that I've never heard before, that I don't understand. I didn't want you to let go."

"...Want me to come back? I don't have to talk, I don't... I don't want to make it worse."

"Please? You can talk, I don't mind."

John rejoined him on the bed and pulled him into his arms, on his back with his head against John's chest.

Jim hugged him tight, squeezing his eyes shut. "It's the changes. Not you."

"I know. It'll get easier, I promise. Slowly but surely, we'll get you out of this mindset."

“Okay." He whispered.

John smiled at him. "And I will get you anything you need. A cold rag for your fever, something to eat, new clothes... Anything I can possibly do to help you. Anything at all."

Jim swallowed. "You're...you're sure I'm not gonna wake up on the mattress pad in Sherlock's basement?"

"I promise. You'll wake up, snug and safe in your bed here."

"Your bed."

John chuckled. "Yours, Jim. I'm giving it to you."

"But..."

John tilted his head. "But what?"

"But this is your bed. I should be sleeping on the floor and be thankful for it because it's your floor too and...and I'm yours too."

John licked his lips. _You're mine_. It sent a little shiver running down his spine. "You're... No, don't talk about yourself like that. You're not property, not to me. You don't belong to me. I hold your contract, is all, by legal standards. And only for a few months. Then you'll be free."

"Still."

"Still what? This bed is yours now, Jim. Floor is mine. Unless some night you need company to keep the nightmares away, in which case I will climb in- fully clothed- and hold you while you sleep. Otherwise, she's all yours."

"B-but-" He broke off, coughing raggedly into his arm, gasping.

John frowned, eyes pained. "But what?"

Jim took a moment to catch his breath, chest tight. "But if you want to, to sleep in your bed. It's your bed, you can tell me to move," he croaked.

John shook his head. "Not going to happen. You'll have all the luxuries of everyone else while you're here."

"Then why are you sleeping on the floor? If I'm supposed to have what everyone else does you don't have a bed."

John smiled. "Because I want you to be comfortable, and given the... the things, that you've been through, I thought it best to give you your own space to sleep in. Your nightmares are worse than mine, you're sick, and you just got out of a hellish living situation. You deserve some comfort."

"I just... it's hard for me to grasp, I guess," he said softly.

"I know. I know, Jim. It'll come easier, though. I promise."

"Okay," he whispered, leaning against him.

John held him tightly, simply enjoying the weight of him. No one's needed me for so long. I matter. It's so strange, to think about. I won't let him down, not now, not ever.

Jim rested his cheek against his his chest, wheezing.

"The pneumonia will pass, too. Especially with warm baths and medicine."

Jim smiled a little. "Good. Good, I want it to."

"There it is. I was right, too. Beautiful smile.”

Jim flushed and ducked his head.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I...don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything."

"Oh," Jim said, still bowed and slightly ashamed.

John tilted his head back up. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I just feel so stupid."

"You're not stupid, Jim."

"Yes I am, you don't have to lie to me about that.”

John shook his head. "I'm not lying."

"But I am stupid."

"No, Jim. You're not."

"But I don't know anything."

"I doubt that. You could see things about me even Sherlock missed."

"He thought Harry was your brother."

John grinned. "Yes, he did. But you know otherwise, don't you?"

Jim spoke quietly. "Harry's your sister, her name's Harriet. She drinks like your father did and you don't like it and neither does her wife. Or, soon to be ex-wife."

"That's right. See? You're brilliant."

Jim shook his head. "I just look at things. I'm not."

"You put together information in a way most people can't. Brilliant."

Jim was red to his ears.

"If there are things you want to learn, I can help."

Jim spoke very quietly. "How to tie shoes."

"Alright. When do you want to learn? When you're healthier?"

Jim nodded, glancing at him. "Still don't think I'm stupid?"

"Nope. Not in the least bit. You told me, you've been a slave since you were a child. There were a lot of things you never had the chance to learn, and that's not your fault. But you're bright, so bright. They'll come easily, with help."

"I can read and write," he blurted, the smallest amount of pride in his eyes.2:57 PM

"That's wonderful. Did you ever get the chance to read recreationally? I have books, if you want to."

Jim shook his head. "I had to sneak books."

John "Well, you are welcome to mine at any time. Okay?"

Jim nodded. "Okay."

John beamed. "One request, though. You should start with The Hobbit."

"Why?" He frowned.

"Because it's my favorite, and it'd be nice to have someone around that had read it as well."

"What's it about?"

John grinned. "It's about a hobbit who goes on an adventure with thirteen dwarves and a wizard, to reclaim a mountain from a red dragon that took up residence in their ancestral home."

Jim's eyes grew. "That sounds amazing."

"Oh, it is. It's wonderful. It's... it's technically a children's novel, but I read it at least three times a year." Every year. Since I was eight.

Jim looked at him, the corners of his mouth barely twitching up again. "That's okay."

"I hope you enjoy it."

"I probably will. Especially if you like it."

John smiled. "That's great."

Jim blushed a little for a reason he didn't understand this time.

John sighed happily. "This is nice."

"What is?" He asked softly.

"Sitting here with you."

"It is?"

John nodded. "Very nice."

"That's...new."

"How so?"

"Nobody likes being near me."

"I do."

"That's why it's new…”

John nodded. "I understand.”

Jim coughed a little, blinking slowly. "I'm...I'm tired. But I don't want you to go."

John blushed. "Would you like me to hold you while you sleep?"

“Would you?"

John nodded. "Yes. Yes, I will."

"Thank you."

John smiled. "You're very welcome. How would you like to lay down?"

"Did, um...did you see the way I had your pillow?" He said softly, eyes down.

John nodded. "Yes.”

"Can...like that? You don't have to, you can- However you want, I won't make you touch me like that."

"I think I can handle that. Here, lie down, get comfortable, okay? And then I'll lay down too, and hold you."

"Okay," he nodded, doing as he was told, arms curled against his chest.

John laid down beside him and draped an arm over his, holding him close beneath the blankets.

Jim nuzzled into his chest, sighing softly.

John smiled at him and closed his eyes.

Jim got his heart to stop pounding soon enough and calmed enough to rest again, sleeping soundly against him.

John drifted off as well, into a sleep more peaceful than he'd had in months.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's still so much he doesn't understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY NO UPDATE IN FOREVER BATMAN.
> 
> College midterms were last week, so I had no time to edit. Sorry!

Jim slept for a few hours, dream and nightmare free. However when he woke to a body beside him, and so close to him, he whimpered, trying to back away.

John opened his eyes and removed his arms. "Jim. Should I move?"

Jim heard the voice and gasped, looking up with wide and terrified eyes. "I-I'm sorry. No. No, I don't want you to go."

John smiled gently. "It's alright, don't be sorry." He put his arms back. "How are you feeling?"

"Awful," he breathed, speaking incredibly quiet, not used to actually telling someone how he felt. How he actually felt.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I don't know,"Jim said truthfully. "My throat hurts, my chest hurts, my face is hot and my legs ache.”

"How about some juice, or the rest of your soda, and then a warm bath?"

Jim nodded. "Okay."

John smiled. "Which would you rather drink?"

"Juice," he whispered. "The soda hurts my throat."

John nodded. "Alright." He let go of him and crawled out of bed, walking to the fridge. He came back with a glass of juice and more antibiotics for Jim.

"Thank you," Jim said softly, taking it from him when he offered it.

John beamed. "Want me to run the water for you?"

"You don't have to," he whispered.

"If you want to do it yourself, you're more than welcome to."

Jim shifted a little in his seat. "Actually, um, where am I supposed to...go?" He muttered, blushing.

John blushed. "Oh, um. Toilet."

Jim nodded. "Where?"

"In the bathroom."

Jim looked over his shoulder. "That one?" He frowned.

John nodded. "Yep."

"I can't use the same toilet as you," he breathed.

Yes, you can. I keep everything clean."

Jim bowed his head. "I-I'm not clean.”

John tilted his head. "Jim. You're absolutely fine."

Jim shook his head. "No, John, I'm..." He scratched the barcode on his neck. "I'm not supposed to."

John took his hand. "Jim. I've only got the one bathroom. And in here, you're safe."

"I...Mr. Holmes had me use a bucket," he whispered.

"Nope. You are not using a bucket. Jim. You're using the bathroom, okay? You're a human, not a pet."

Jim nodded, so utterly ashamed. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I know it's going to take some getting used to."

"I, I shouldn't have said that."

"Said what?"

"About the bucket," he winced. "That was- I just shouldn't have."

"Shh," John cooed. "It's alright. You'll never have to do that again, okay? Tomorrow, I'll go out and buy you your own toothbrush, and combs, and anything you need. You'll use the bathroom like anyone else, alright?"

Jim's lips shook. "You're very kind."

John smiled. "You need kindness in your life, Jim."

"Wish I could've met you sooner."

"Me too. It would have saved you a lot of pain. But I wasn't here."

“You were fighting," he nodded. "Got shot in your left shoulder and came home because of the PTSD, you have a psychosomatic limp and tremors in your left hand," he rattled. "But you haven't limped today and your hands haven't shook since you started helping me."

John blushed. "Exactly. Ten years in the army. RAMC. Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. And yes, I haven't limped today."

"Sorry," Jim whispered.

John smiled. "You're fine Jim. I mean it."

"That's not what people normally say if I do that," he whispered.

John frowned. "What do they normally say?"

“Fuck off.”

"I like it. I like it a lot. I think it's brilliant."

Jim blushed a little. "Thank you."

John smiled warmly. "You're very welcome So. Do you need anything, before I let you have the run of the bathroom for a while?"

Jim shook his head. "No, sir. John. Sorry, thank you."

John stood up and stretched. "Alright. If you need more ibuprofen when you come back, just tell me."

"Is that the pain stuff?"

John nodded. "Yes."

Jim nodded back. "Okay." He stood. "So, so I can just go?"

"Yep. Just like that."

Jim swallowed. "Okay." He went into the bathroom again, stopping a moment later and looking back out at him. "Can I use warm water?"

"Of course you can, Jim. As hot as you want it."

"Thank you." He went back in the bathroom, using the toilet for the first time in three years and started the bath.

John heated up the dumplings from the night before and sat down at his desk, snacking happily as he checked his email.

Jim undressed carefully, hissing when his pants came down, stinging the awful welts that throbbed horrendously. He turned and looked over his shoulder at himself in the mirror, grimacing. His spine poked out in his skin, his birdlike shoulder blades making him look that much more fragile. If he lost another pound you'd see his ribs as well. Scars crisscrossed back and forth, some deep and gnarled and some thin white lines against his flesh. There were more you couldn't see unless you looked closer or deeper. He turned, facing it now. His stomach turned. The scars were worse and absolutely everywhere. He was too thin, too broken and too frail. Even if he were free like John said, no one would ever want a thing like him. His hips were so sharp, his nakedness absolutely horrendous. He turned away with tears in his eyes and got in the tub. _Ugly, disgusting thing. So ugly._

John hummed to himself. A few comments on his blog; Harry, Sherlock (interesting), and Ella. He read what they had to say, smiling to himself before checking the rest of his messages. _Receipt for my deposit on Jim's account, spam, veteran's newsletter... boring._ He closed his laptop and cradled his head. _No one's told that man how handsome he is? No one's given him this much freedom? God, I hope I can help him. I hope I can make him see just how wonderful he is._

Jim got out a little while later, clean, at least. He drained the tub and dried off, and looked at the pajamas with a wince. I didn't get permission. He stepped out, holding the towel tight and looking at him. "What...what am I supposed to wear?" He said softly, eyes down.

John turned around and bit his lip. _Oh, god, look at you..._ "W-would you like clean pajamas?" The scars didn't bother him. His heart ached for Jim, for the way his skin stretched over his bone, for the bruises, for all the wrongs he couldn't right. "You're welcome to any clothes in my drawers, I'm sure you don't want to wear the same clothes every day. If you know your size, I can pick you up some things when I'm out tomorrow."

Jim saw John looking and shrunk into himself, the tears coming back. "I've been wearing the same clothes every day for years, sir- John." He cleared his throat, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "And I don't do very well with that many choices.” _I don't want to be naked anymore, please, I'm scared. I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared..._

John stood and walked to his dresser, pulling out a fresh pair of cotton pajamas. "Here you are," he said softly, smiling at Jim. "You can get dressed in the bathroom. The door locks."

"Thank you," he whispered, taking them and disappearing again as quickly as possible to get dressed. _He's seen. He's seen half of it now, he knows how ugly I am_. He whimpered and swallowed his tears again, getting dressed and trying to smooth his hair down. He took a few slow, deep breaths and went back out, head down.

"Hungry, Jim?"

Jim nodded. "Yes," he said softly, still not looking at him. He didn't want to see that disgust.

John noticed. "Hey there, beautiful. Look at me."

Jim sniffed and did so, chest in knots.

John smiled at him. "There you are. Tell me what's wrong, please."

"You saw," he croaked.

John nodded. "I did. Why is that a problem?"

"B-because I'm hideous. And you saw."

John shook his head. "I don't think you're hideous."

"How?" He blurted, tears in his eyes. "How can you look at me and say that?"

John knelt down in front of him. "I'm a soldier. I'm an army surgeon. You really think some scars and bruises are going to make me think less of you? No, Jim. I still think you're handsome."

Jim sobbed once. "You're too nice to me."

John smiled up at him. "I'm being honest. You've got nothing to be ashamed up. I like scars, bruises fade, and if you're worried about your weight, that will fix itself soon. Now that you're getting proper meals, that is. Speaking of- want some more dumplings?"

Jim nodded but didn't speak, sniffling.

John nodded toward the bed. "Please, have a seat."

Jim did as he was told, trembling all over.

John brought him the warm dumplings, a fork, and sauce. "Eat as much as you can. ...I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable."

"Thank you," he cooed, voice wavering. He swallowed. "I just...I don't know who you can see beauty in, in me. You said earlier today that I might find someone if I ever get free and...and who would want me? I'm...disfigured, with baggage that- No. No one could ever want me. No one would be as nice or as beautiful as you anyway..." He mumbled, not realizing what he'd said.

John blushed. _You think I'm beautiful?_ "Well you're always welcome to stay with me."

Jim looked up at him. "Even after? I-I won't make you do that."

"Even after. I'd... I'd like it. I think I'd like it a lot."

Jim swallowed. "Really?"

"Really."

"I'd like that."

John smiled. "That's good. If you can still stand to be around me, then, you should stay."

"If you can still stand me, I will.”

John sat down in his blankets. "Don't forget to eat."

"Yes, sir." He ate slowly, relishing the taste of them. It took him a moment to notice. "Wait, this isn't the same fork or plate I used earlier," he said softly.

"No, it's not."

Jim peeked at him through his lashes. "You really don't think I'm dirty, do you?"

John shook his head. "Nope. Not in the slightest."

"Thank you," he whispered, eating still.

"You're welcome."

Jim swallowed. "Did I upset you?"

John shook his head. "Not at all, Jim. I just want to make sure you have everything you need."

Jim "I'm wonderful. Thank you so much."

John smiled. "You're welcome. Do you still want painkillers?"

Jim gave a tiny smile back. "Yes, please."

John got them for him, along with a cup of juice, and brought them to the bed. "Here you go."

Jim "Thank you very much," he said quietly, taking them and taking a sip.

John "You're welcome." John sat at the foot of the bed. "Did you have a good bath?"

Jim nodded. "I did, thank you."

John beamed and laid back on the mattress. "That's good, I'm glad."

Jim cocked his head. "Why?"

"Because I want you to enjoy yourself."

"Just a world of firsts for me," he whispered, speaking mostly to himself.

"Hopefully they're all good firsts."

Jim nodded. "Mmhm." He took another bite.

John smiled. "What do you want to do when you finish eating?"

Jim 's brows creased. "Um, do you have laundry that needs to be done, um or I could, um..." He wasn't sure what to say.

John chuckled. "Other than work. You're not going to lift a finger around here, until you're more accustomed to things. Eventually we'll start taking turns on chores, like regular roommates. We could watch telly, if you like."

"We can-? I can?"

John nodded. "Yep. I don't get many channels, but I do get one that plays movies."

"Okay.”

John handed him the remote. "Whatever you want. And if you can't find something there, I can bring my laptop over and you can watch on it."

"I-I, um, I wouldn't know about...about any of that."

"What do you mean?"

“I've never watched telly.”

"I'm willing to give suggestions."

Jim handed the remote back and nodded.

John flipped through until he found a channel running old comedies. "Here we go. Monty Python. No one can resist."

Jim nodded. "Okay."

“Would... Would you like me to hold you again?"

“If you want to," he whispered.

John blushed. "I do, but I won’t if it would make you uncomfortable."

Jim shook his head. "It does the opposite."

John smiled. "I'm glad." He sat up and moved next to Jim, wrapping his arms around him. I like this.

Jim leaned against him, coughing softly, fever high.

John frowned. "Sod, your fever's not going down. Want a damp washrag for your head? It'll help with the heat."

"If it'll help," he whispered.

"It will. I'll be back." The doctor got up and went to the bathroom, taking a clean, dry rag and running it under the cool tap. He wrung it out in the sink and brought it back. "Alright." He placed it gently against Jim's forehead and held him close again, reclining their bodies so it stayed put.

Jim sighed softly when the rag touched his skin. "Thank you," he cooed, leaning with him.

John blushed. "You're welcome, Jim."

"Why do, do you keep blushing?" He whispered.

"I, um... I don't know. You, uh. You make me feel good. Does it bother you?"

"I...Don't know what you mean by good."

"You... You compliment me, a lot. You let me hold you. And you're very attractive. I like that I make you feel good, and I like that you don't mind me being here."

"You live here," Jim said softly.

"Well, yes, but I mean, here. Holding you."

Jim pinked. "I...right. I don't. I like this."

"I do too. I like it alot."

"You do?"

John nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"You're very nice."

John "So are you, Jim."

"I...I'm obedient.”

"Not for too much longer. I promise. I'm going to work very hard to help you out of that mindset."

"That's a lot," he said gently.

"What is?"

"To get me out. It's a lot."

John licked his lips. "I know, Jim, but I'm not going to stop trying."

Jim wiped his eyes and sniffed. "I still don't understand why you're doing this for me."

"Because I want you to be happy, Jim. I like you. I care about you."

"I...I think I care about you too."

John smiled. "Thank you, Jim."

"You're welcome."

John turned his attention to telly, feeling warm and happier than he had in a very, very long time.

Jim sniffed and leaned against him.

John rested his head against Jim's as well, making sure the cloth stayed in place.

Jim looked up at him with a blush.

John found it incredibly hard to swallow through the tightness in his throat. God, you really are gorgeous. "Is this okay?"

Jim nodded and settled again, coughing softly.

John smiled, cheeks pinking as he held him close. "Is there anything I can do for your fever?"

"I don't know," Jim said. "Any other time I just got shoved in a corner and had to fight through it by myself."

"I think you're due for another dose of antibiotics, so there's that. Other than that, I can keep you warm, keep your cloth cool, and I'm not sure there's much else."

Jim nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "Thank you."

John got up and got his pills. "...Would you like some tea?"

Jim's eyes lit up. "Tea?"

John nodded. "I have... ginger, black, earl gray, and a berry blend."

"I, um...Whatever you like."

"Alright. Black it is, then." He put the kettle on and waited for it to boil. When it began to whistle, he took it off the burner and poured the water into two mugs. "Would you like me to bring milk, or sugar?"

"Maybe?" He said, wrapping arms around himself.

John poured a little milk into his cup and added one sugar cube, carrying everything over to Jim. "I hope it helps," he said with a smile, offering him the tray of accoutrements and his medicine.

Jim took a sip of his tea and made a face. He dropped four sugars and a little bit of cream, taking another drink. He smiled a little. "Thank you.

John smiled back. "You're welcome. Don't forget your antibiotics." He climbed back into the bed with his own mug.

Jim took the medicine and leaned against him. "You...you really make me feel like a person."

"You are a person."

"I mean, not like a slave."

John grinned. "I know. Because, in my eyes, you aren't a slave."

Jim scratched the barcode, smiling a little.

John noticed the movement. "When I finish paying your debt, will they be able to remove that?"

"They laser it off," he nodded. "I don't know if they'll be able to get mine off. Most people that get out only have to do this for a year. Let alone three decades."

John frowned. "Whether they can or not, I'll still like you either way. And I'll punch anyone who says anything about it."

"You'd hit someone for me?" He frowned.

"If they were mean to you, yes."

"You've got a big list of people to hit then," he said, trying to joke.

John smiled. "If I could, I would hunt down everyone who hurt you."

Jim swallowed. "Too many."

"Doesn't matter. I'd still do it."

Jim wiped his eyes. "Thank you.I don't know how someone could be as nice as you."

"I've been kicked around most of my life. Not nearly as bad as you, god, my suffering isn't even close. But that's a big part of it."

Jim "I'm so sorry your dad hit you," he whispered.

John shrugged. "I turned out alright despite it. It's fine."

Jim shook his head. "Nobody should hurt someone like you."

"No one should hurt you either."

Jim shrugged. "They're kind of supposed to."

John shook his head. "No. No, they aren't. They're allowed to, but that's terrible."

Jim just ducked his head.

John frowned. "Did I upset you?”

Jim shook his head. "No. It's just one more thing I don't understand."

"What do you mean?"

"Slaves get hurt. That's how it goes. Not for all of them, but for most. Every slave I've ever talked to has been hit at least once. It's just part of life. But you don't think so."

"I don't think it should be, and it's damned unfair that they have to deal with that."

Jim shrugged. "They passed that law that Masters can't kill us unless it's out of self defense a few years ago."

John frowned. "That's... just a few years ago? Oh my god."

"Less than a decade," he nodded.

John bit his lip. "That's... god, that should have been in effect from the very first."

Jim chuckled. "When they had to start it again everyone was worried about the economy and was sure an honor system would be put in place. They didn't think teenagers would almost be tortured to death," he said softly.

John hugged him tighter. "I'm so sorry."

"You didn't do it," he breathed.

"I wish I could have protected you sooner."

"I toughed it out," he assured. "But thank you."

"You never should have been put in that position," John said quietly.

"Drunk, drugged up parents shooting themselves in the head with nothing for collateral but a three year old put me in that position. No one's fault but theirs."

John swallowed. "I'm so, so sorry."

Jim cocked his head. "Why?"

"For everything you've been through."

Jim smiled a little. "But no more, right?"

“Everything's going to be good from now on. You're going to heal, you're going to be healthy, and you're going to be happy. I promise."

"I need some good," he whispered. "I have for a very long time."

John smiled back at him. "And now you've got it. Forever, if you want."

Jim hugged him without another word, squeezing tight.

John hugged him back, closing his eyes against the tears that threatened to come.

Jim sniffed, swallowing hard and repeatedly, tears in his eyes.

"Are you alright?"

Jim nodded and squeezed him tighter. "I'm just scared."

John frowned, glad Jim couldn't see. "Of what?"

"That you're going to get taken away like Master Moran did," he choked.

John balked. "Jim... Nothing happens to me. I mean that. I'm dull, and boring. Nothing's going to happen to me."

Jim held him tighter, desperate. "I can't- I can't go back to that. I can't go back to someone like Master Holmes, I can't," he was crying now. "I can't do it, John. I'll die. I'll just die. I was thinking about letting myself do it when you came and I can't do it again. Please, please don't let yourself get hurt. Don't let someone take you away, please..."

John couldn't pinpoint what made him do it. The pain in Jim's voice, his own nurturing nature, the admission... whatever it was, his response was automatic. He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Jim's temple. "I won't leave you, Jim. I won't get hurt. You're not going back to someone like Sherlock. I promise you."

Jim gasped, stilling, eyes growing. He'd kissed him. His forehead, sure, but it was a kiss. He swallowed, hugging him tight. "Thank you."

John smiled and closed his eyes. "You're welcome."

Jim stayed where he was, clinging to him desperately.

John rubbed small circles on his back, trying to calm him. "I mean it. Everything's going to be fine."

"I hope you're right."

John hoped so too, but he didn't say it aloud. "I am."

"You're not sure," Jim whispered. "I can feel it; hear it in your voice."

John swallowed. "Nothing's going to happen to me. Not that I know of. Unlike Sherlock, I don't go sticking my nose where it doesn't belong. I hardly know anyone in London- just you, him, and a friend from Uni."

Jim offered another very small smile. "You need to get out more. London's a good place."

John grinned. "Yeah, it is. But I've got a job now."

"You do?"

John nodded. "I've got you to take care of. I'm not going to just leave you here alone, you know."

Jim blushed a little. "You're not?"

"Nope. We can go on walks and things, but most places won't let us go together. So I don't really care to bother with them. We can enjoy ourselves here, or at the park.”

Jim swallowed. "If you go to a restaurant, I can't sit with you, but you can sit with me. If You go to a cinema I can't sit with you, but you can sit with me. Make sense?"

John nodded. "So we don't have to be separate."

Jim shook his head. "No. Nobody, um, no that isn't a slave usually stays with theirs."

"...I'd like to stay with you. Maybe we could catch a movie with weekend.”

Jim blinked. "You would?"

John nodded again, smiling. "Yes Jim. I would."

"You like me that much?"

John turned a little redder. "Well, yes."

Jim folded his lips. "Why?"

"Well. Um. I told you, that I... I think you're handsome. And I think you're brilliant. Going out together will help, with adjusting, and I... I really like your company."

Jim ducked his head, blushing up to his ears. "You're... you do?”

"Yes."

"I'm, I'm nothing special."

John tilted Jim's chin up. "You obviously are to me."

Jim licked his lips. "Why?"

"I've been giving you reasons all day," John said with a smile. "And I've meant every one of them."

Jim ducked his head again. "Sorry."

John cupped his chin gently. "You're handsome. You're brilliant. I want to help you. I want to save you from this life. I want to make you happy. You deserve it. And, you make me happy."

"But I don't have a personality...at all- I mean, thank you, thank you very much, you make me happy and knowing that I somehow make you happy makes my heart skip. I want to spend time with you. Very much. And I should stop questioning it." Jim clapped a hand over his mouth. He'd never spoken so freely in his entire existence.

John took his hand away from his mouth. "You DO have a personality. it comes out when you voice your observations. And it'll come out more, the more you adapt."

Jim blushed a little. "Okay," he nodded.

"You said you snuck books; what kind did you like to read?"

"Jane Eyre. Pride and Prejudice, The Picture of Dorian Gray. And I really liked poetry. Sylvia Plath and Emily Dickinson are my favorite," he said softly.

John grinned. "See? You're brilliant."

Jim flushed deeply. "Thank you."

John loved seeing him blush. It was such a normal thing, such a happy thing... "So you're into the classics, then?"

"I suppose. Never really got my hands on much else. But I like them very much," he nodded.

John hugged him a little tighter. "You have good taste. Too dry for me. I like adventures."

"Well, your favorite book is The Hobbit," he remarked.

John nodded. "For exactly that reason. I've read all of Tolkien's works, and Pratchett's, and Adams'."

Jim looked at him, genuinely interested. "Who are they?"

John grinned. "Terry Pratchett wrote comedic high-fantasy adventures, and Douglas Adams wrote comedic sci-fi."1

"Like what?" He asked, head cocked.

John "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the galaxy was about a man hitchhiking across the universe when his planet gets destroyed. It spun into a series of novels, but the last one wasn't very good."

Jim just nodded, that same soft echo of a smile there. "That sounds interesting."

John liked the expression. "It is, the books are usually hilarious and the narrator is wonderful."

"Must be good if you like them."

"You're welcome to read them, I have copies."

Jim perked up. "I can?" His smile got a little bigger.

John chuckled. "Of course! You can read anything you like. And when we go out, I'll buy you anything you like. As long as i can afford it."

Jim looked at him. "Buy?"

John nodded. "If you see an interesting book, or a film you want to see, or something to eat, yes."

"That...that's going to take a lot for me to do," he said softly. "An awful lot."

John nodded. "I know. But we have all the time in the world for you to be able to."

Jim nodded. "Yes we do."

John cuddled Jim close and turned back to the telly.

Jim enjoyed the closeness, leaning against him and coughing softly.

"Is your cough any better?"

"A little. But my chest still hurts."

John "What kind of hurt?"

"Like someone's sitting on it."

"Tight, compression then? In your ribs, or muscle?"

Jim nodded. "Um, muscle? I think.”

John frowned a little. "Apart from over the counter pain medication, all I can think to do is massage the muscles, but I don't think you want me too. I'll do what I can with the medicine, okay?"

Jim shook his head. "No I don't," he whispered, nodding. He spoke again a few lapses of silence later. "Thank you.”

"You're welcome."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That I'm so broken.”

“You're not broken, Jim. Just bent.”

"Pretty bent, then."

"And we'll get you back into shape."

"It's good that you're patient."

John smiled. "Even if I wasn't, I would be to help you."

Jim blushed. "You would?"

John nodded. "Yes."

"Never thought someone would ever be willing to go out of their way for me."

"To be honest... I'd probably do anything for you."

Jim flushed magenta. "Anything?"

"Anything."

Jim "I...why?"

"Because you deserve it."

Jim blushed. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome."

Jim leaned into him again, drowsy again. It didn't take long for him to slip into a light sleep, face resting in John's neck.

John was ashamed to admit how much he enjoyed the feel of Jim's warm breath against his skin. _I hope I can make you happy. I hope I can help._

Jim grumbled a little, curling so he was in John’s lap, shivering a bit.

John pulled the blanket over Jim and stroked his hair gently.

Jim hummed and nuzzled into him, coughing a little.

"You'll feel better soon," John whispered.

Jim made a quiet, sleepy sound. "Mmn."

John smiled down at him. _I promise, Jim. I promise. At the very least, you will heal. Even if I can't make you happy._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim uses the computer for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry that this hasn't been updated. It's done, but I've been getting sidetracked by other projects. I'm almost done with posting Fractured, and then this will get all my attention. I really need to find someone to help me edit our collabs, haha.

Jim slept for awhile without dreams, but the nightmares came. They always came.

John noticed the twitching first. He bit his lip and kept smoothing his hair, humming quietly.

Jim whimpered in his arms, falling fast into darkness and trying so desperately to get to the light. _Tied up in the dark, bare and waiting with the echoes of kindness that had all been a dream. An illusion._

"Jim," John said quietly. "Jim? Wake up, it's alright. You're safe."

Jim whined, twisting a little. _Icy eyes and leather-clad hands around his throat, choking the life out of him. "An experiment." Whipped with leather until he bled, humiliated and shattering from the inside. "An experiment." A gun put in front of him. "Kill yourself. Pick it up and end the excuse for life you've got." The metal was cold on his lips, trigger heavy on his fingers. Freedom. The only freedom he could ever have. Death. Peace. "Oh you stupid fucker!" The gun whipped across his cheek instead. "Like I'd actually let you." No hope. No escape. Just dark._

John could see the tears spilling down his cheeks. _No, please, it's okay, I swear!_ He nudged his shoulder gently. "Jim, can you hear me?"

Jim hummed back, breath hitching in his chest.

John shook him, still being careful. "Jim, if you can hear me, it's John. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

Jim _looked up in the night, in the never ending dark that wrapped around him. A glow. Light. "John?_ " "John."

John smiled. "There you are. "I've got you. Everything's okay, Jim."

Jim opened his eyes and looked up at him, gasping and shaking. "I don't want to die," he blurted.

John stilled. "I don't want you to either."

Jim hiccuped. "He told me to. He told me to pick up the gun, he told me to kill myself and I wanted to." He cried softly. "I wanted to die. I don't want to now. I want to stay with you. I want to stay here."

John scooped him from his lap and held him against his chest. "I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you're alive."

Jim trembled. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "You didn't need to hear that, you didn't need to have to wake me up."

John played with his hair. "You can talk to me about anything, okay? You needn't be sorry. And I wanted to wake you; friends don't let friends suffer."

Jim sniffed, comforted by the touch. "Friend?"

John nodded. "Yep. Friend. We have to start somewhere."

"I'm your friend?" He swallowed the lump rising in his throat.

"Yeah."

Jim gave him a smile bigger than any that came before it. "Never had a friend."

John loved his dimples, loved the seeming sharpness of his teeth, loved the way his eyes wrinkled. "I'm honoured to be your first. And I was right, you know."

"About what?" He said, the smile gone already.

J”Your smile."

Jim blushed deeply. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Do you need anything?"

Jim was still shaking a little as he hugged him. "Just my friend."

John hugged him back, smiling gently. "You've definitely got that."

Jim sniffed. "Thank you.”

John "You're so very, very welcome." It helped, having someone in the flat, having someone he could care for, talk to, help through the dreams... John knew how horrible the terrors could be. Neither of them would have to face them alone now.

Jim nuzzled his face into his neck without really thinking, clinging to his warmth.

John hummed happily and rubbed his back.

"You're warm," Jim dared to whisper.

John grinned. "I usually am. My hands are the worst about it, but it helps, being a doctor. It comforts patients."

"Well it's doing a good job comforting me," he said, almost inaudibly.

John blushed. "I'm glad."

Jim grunted softly, coughing hard into his arm.

John frowned. "Want some more tea? It might soothe your throat."

"Please?"

John nodded. He untangled their bodies and put the kettle on.

Jim lied back on the bed, curling up on the sheets and sighing softly. He coughed again, shivering against the wall.

John returned with Jim's cuppa and medication, glad he hadn't moved the tray with the sweeteners. "Here you go."

Jim took it from him graciously. "Thank you."

John smiled and sat back down. "You're quite welcome."

Jim coughed again, blowing on the tea.

John smoothed a hand over Jim's back and stretched out on the bed.

Jim shivered a little at the touch and drank.

John drew back, not wanting to making him uncomfortable. _Jesus, John. Handsy much?_

"You didn't have to," he whispered.

"Didn't have to what?"

“Stop," Jim breathed quietly.

John hesitated for just a moment before resuming the contact, rubbing Jim's back with a comforting hand.

Jim looked over his shoulder at him. "Why'd you hesitate?"

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Jim "I'm not uncomfortable."

John continued to rub his back, closing his eyes and simply enjoying the warmth of another person.

Jim hadn't allowed a touch of another person in years. But this, this was nice. And warm. He took another drink of his tea.

John started to doze, his hand eventually stilling, still pressed against the cotton of Jim's shirt.

Jim looked over at him when he stopped, coughing softly. _See? You've bored him to sleep._

John _could feel the desert heart, could hear shouting outside the tent._ His brows knitted together.

Jim finished his tea and simply sat, relishing the feel of John's warm hand on his back.

John _ran out after the first gunshot, hurrying to pull his rifle up. There was a soldier on the ground, clutching a hand to his bleeding throat. "Jack. Jack, hold on, okay? Let me see the wound." It was bad, very bad- there was nothing he could do._

Jim heard a grunt and jumped, turning to look at him. "John?" He whispered.

John _was stitching him the best he could when something tore through his shoulder._ On the bed, John drew his hand back to clutch at his shoulder, face contorted in pain.

"J-John? John, it's okay. Don't...don't be scared."

John _couldn't move. His vision was fading. I'm dying. I'm going to die out here._

"John?" He squeaked, touching his shoulder.

John gasped raggedly, tears slipping past his lashes. _He was being dragged away, back toward safety. “Please, god, let me live…”_

"John," he shook him lightly. "John, wake up, please. It's okay. It's alright."

John whimpered. _"Wake up."_

"It's okay," Jim breathed, too afraid to touch him any more. "John, please wake up. Please."

John heard it, slightly scared. _"Please wake up. Please."_ He opened his eyes, vision blurred through his tears. _A flat. Dingy. My flat?_ "Jim?"

Jim nodded, swallowing heavily. "Mmhm. It's okay. You're home, it's okay."

John wiped his tears, wincing as he moved his shoulder. "Sorry," he whispered.

Jim gently- almost not daring to, but John looked so sad- thumbed a tear on his chin away. "It's alright. Don't...don't be sorry.”

John smiled, a few more tears falling from his eyes. He reached a hand out to Jim.

Jim took it warily, taking a tissue from the nightstand and dabbing up the rest with the same reserved caution.

John brushed his thumb over the back of Jim's hand, as if trying to reassure him. That was definitely part of it; the other was to remind himself that it was a dream. A memory. Something that could never repeat.

"It's alright," Jim said, seeing his discomfort and trying to ignore the feeling he got when John touched him like that. "You're not there anymore, you're here with me."

John tugged gently on his hand. He wasn't sure he could speak without breaking down again.

"Do...do you need a hug?" He whispered.

John nodded.

Gingerly and very slowly Jim reached out, carefully wrapping his arms around John like he'd done for him.

John was careful, hugging him back, burying his face in Jim's neck and shaking.

Jim squeezed tighter, not used to seeing someone be just as vulnerable as he was. "It's okay. Shh..." He smoothed a hand over his back, just like he'd done.

John let out a soft sob, glad for the comfort. He was just thankful he hadn't screamed. He would have ended up alone, if he'd screamed. He knew it would have frightened the former slave.

Jim trembled a little when he cried. "It's alright. You're safe now." He put a hand over the back of the shoulder John had grabbed, trying to soothe him. "It's alright."

John closed his eyes, lashed brushing Jim's skin. He wanted to thank him, but he... he couldn't speak. Not yet.

Jim shivered again. "Shh..." He hugged him closer.

"T-thank you," John finally managed to whisper.

"You're welcome," he said, matching his tone.

John sniffed. "Should I let you go?"

Jim shook his head. "Not unless you want to."

"I don't want to." It was quiet, barely more than a breath.

Jim settled more on the bed, still holding him. "Then don't."

John felt the adrenaline, the fear, start to drain away. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he repeated, holding him.

John clung to him. "No one's... no one's ever... been there for me, after..."

"Well...well, I am."

John pulled his head back a bit and looked up at him. "Yes, you are. And I'm so glad."

Jim smiled a little, pained to see the anguish in John's eyes.

John adjusted his body, still wrapped in Jim's arms, trying to make him more comfortable. "Sometimes I dream about getting shot. It's... usually I scream, and I'm glad... I'm glad I didn't, this time. I... I feel it. I feel the white-hot pain of the bullet passing through me, I feel the displace from the force of the rifle, I feel the ache. I remember what it was like, dying... I stitched the wound myself, already had the bloody kit in my hand, but I couldn't get to the back. I passed out, and I thought to myself, 'I'm not going to wake up.'"

Jim rubbed his shoulder some more. "I'm glad you did."

John hummed softly, closing his eyes. "That feels good. I... I am too. Most days."

Jim blushed. "Is today one of them?"

"...Today is definitely one of those days."

"That's good," Jim breathed.

"...Been having them a lot, lately."

"Why's that?" He said softly, oblivious.

"...I met you..."

Jim blinked. "M-me?"

John nodded sheepishly. "Mhm."

"I, but...but what did I do?"

"You give me a cause to fight for. Someone to care for. Someone I can protect, and take care of. Someone to talk to. Someone to listen to."

Jim swallowed. "I...I give you purpose?"

"Yes."

Jim flushed. "I...I'll keep at it, then," he whispered.

John smiled. "All you have to do is be here.”

"I can do that," he nodded.

John hummed. "Good."

Jim blushed again.

John didn't want to let go. He nuzzled back into Jim's neck.

Jim shivered again, curling around him.

"Um. How are you, are you alright?"

Jim nodded. "Mmhm. I...Don't get touched much. Not in a good way."

John swallowed. "Is... is this good?"

Jim nodded. "Yes."

John smiled. "I'm glad."

“Me too," he whispered.

John let out a soft breath and closed his eyes. "Mmm. Do you need anything? Food, drink, medicine?"

Jim shook his head. "No, I'm okay, thank you."

"Alright. Not bored, are you? I could get you a book."

"No, I'm..." He looked down at the man still resting in his arms. "I'm fine here."

John smiled up at him, opening his eyes. "If you do need something, don't hesitate to wake me. Okay? I'm going to... going to catch a nap."

Jim nodded. "Okay."

John closed his eyes and, falling back to sleep, feeling safe for the first time in a long time.

Jim just lied back with him, unsure what to do.

John hoped, in a brief moment of sleepy clarity, that Jim could sleep too. He'd hate for him to be trapped and bored.

Jim looked at him, slowly relaxing as time went on. He decided to pretend for a moment. Just for a moment that this circumstances were different. That he and John weren't...well, who they were. That John cared about him in a different way. That he was holding him because they cared for each other, that they shared this place together, that they were happy. He smiled at the thought, shutting his eyes, and pretending.

John dreamed of Jim. A healthier Jim, a happier Jim. They sat in the park, Jim's head in his lap, each with a book in hand. It was autumn, John's favorite time of year, and everything was red and gold and orange. There was a tug on his shirt; Jim smiled up at him, fingers pinching John's cardigan. He bent down, and they kissed. "Better," Jim said, going back to his book. He was finally getting around to reading the Hobbit. In his sleep, John sighed happily. _I wish. He's not interested in that, though. I should focus on keeping him healthy, on helping him, not on dreams._

Jim _HOW COULD ANYONE WANT YOU? UGLY, UGLY UGLY!_ He grunted in his sleep, grimacing. He was right. Living in this delusion wouldn't ever solve anything. He needed to stop pretending. Stop playing make believe. This wasn't a game, it was real. And John needed a wife and a house and children. Not...not a slave.

John felt Jim flinch and held him tighter, mumbling.

Jim felt the squeeze and laid his cheek against his head, nuzzling closer to him.

John hummed. His dream continued, though he knew he shouldn't let it. The last thing Jim needed was unwanted attention, especially with how scared he was, but John couldn't help it. His mind was not his own when he slept.

 _You disgusting thing. He doesn't want you. No one wants you. No one loves you or needs you, NO ONE! Why should he?_ He coughed in his sleep and squeezed John's shirt.

John felt the skin against his face move, as Jim coughed. Still heavily sleeping, he pressed a kiss against it.

Jim shivered and stilled, his mind calming immediately.

John slept through the night, no nightmares creeping into his dreams.

Jim slept as well, tangled up with him, humming.

John woke in the morning, wrapped up with Jim, lips dangerously close to his skin. He smiled and opted to lay still, not wanting to disturb him.

Jim grunted and coughed himself awake, jumping at the weight on top of him. "Oh. H-hi."

John blushed. "Good morning, Jim. Are you hungry?"

Jim nodded. "Yes."

John hummed and started extracting his limbs. "Mmm. I'll make breakfast, then."

"Thank you," he coughed.

John began to make a simple breakfast of over-easy eggs, toast, and bacon, humming as he worked.

Jim smiled softly, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

John finished up, bringing Jim his plate and a glass of juice. Before he went to get his own, he got him his antibiotics. When he had secured his own breakfast, he took a seat on the bed beside Jim and turned on the news.

Jim took everything with a string of thank yous and sat contentedly, taking his medicine. "May, um, may I eat now?"

John tilted his head. "Of course, you don't have to wait for me."

Jim nodded. "Okay. Thank you." He started to eat, humming at the taste.

John smiled at him and ate as well, barely taking in the stories.

"Are you okay?" He said softly.

John looked over at him and licked his lips. "Better than okay, actually. I slept wonderfully, after you woke me up from the nightmare. How about you, are you alright?"

Jim nodded again. "Yes. I slept very well."

John grinned and took a bite of food. "I'm glad."

Jim smiled lightly at his plate and kept eating.

John ate until he was full and reclined, arm brushing Jim's. It sent a little jolt down his spine.

Jim pulled away instinctively when they touched, ears pinking.

"Oh, um. Sorry."

“It's alright," he assured.

John "I didn't... mean to make you..." John turned red and looked back to the telly. _He hates even accidental touches. See?_

"I'm just not used to someone touching me and not being repulsed or wanting to hurt me."

"You definitely don't repulse me," John said quietly, "and I'll never hurt you."

"I know," he replied, smiling a little.

John returned the expression. "Let me know when you're done, alright? I'll get the dishes cleaned up."

"Are you sure?"

John nodded. "Never going to have to lift a finger, darling. I promise." It slipped out, and he didn't even notice.

Jim blinked, brows raised. "What'd you call me?"

John rewound his words in his head. "I... oh... d-darling, sorry..."

"Why'd you call me that?" He frowned, head cocked.

John swallowed. _Why did I?_ "I didn't mean to make you, um. Uncomfortable."

"I'm...not sure what it did, but I'm not uncomfortable."

John smiled. "I'm glad." _Oh, god. Good._

"You didn't answer my question, though."

John licked his lips. "It felt... right."

Jim's brows bunched but he said nothing.

John wondered if he said the wrong thing. "Sorry," he mumbled, turning back to the telly.

"Don't be sorry. It didn't bother me."

John looked back at him. "It... it didn't?"

Jim shook his head. "No. I don't think so."

John wondered... "So if I. If I wanted to, could I..."

“John, you may do whatever you like. I can't tell you want you can or can't do."

John shook his head. "No, but you can tell me when I cross a line."

"Line?"

"When I upset you, or make you uncomfortable."

"That's a line?"

John nodded.

Jim scratched the barcode. "Well I should've told everyone that those were there."

John tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"If I had lines people weren't supposed to cross I certainly didn't know. And I guess no one else did either."

John swallowed. "Everyone has boundaries, but... but some people don't respect them."

Jim's eyes fell. "Oh."

John offered Jim his hand. "But I will. I always will."

Jim nodded. "I know," he said, smiling just a little.

John "So, is it... may I call you that?

Jim nodded. "If you want to."

"I do," John said quietly. "I really do."

"Why?"

"I... I like you, Jim, and it's a term of endearment."

Jim nodded. "Okay."

John smiled. "Thank you."

"Why are you thanking me?"

"For giving me your permission."

Jim blinked. "Is that what I did?"

John nodded. "Well, yes. I asked you if I could call darling, and you said yes."

"That's new," he chuckled.

"I'll always ask you for permission. I promise."

"You're...thank you."

John smiled gently. "You're welcome."

Jim finished his breakfast.

"Want me to take your plate?"

"If you want to. You don't have to," he said softly.

John took it from him with a smile. "But I want to." He walked toward the sink and rinsed off their plates. "I'll do all the dishes after dinner."

"Okay," he nodded, coughing softly.

"Need anything?”

"Um..." He ducked his head, blushing.

John knelt down beside him. "Yes?"

"I...like being close to you," he said so softly he barely made a sound.

John blushed right back. He crawled into the bed beside Jim and pulled him close.

Jim smiled softly, trying not to bounce with excitement.

John buried his face in Jim's neck once more. "Darling," he said quietly. It made his chest feel warm.

Jim shivered and shrunk away just a little. "Not so much," he said gently, not accusing or upset.

John nodded and drew back. "Sorry." _Control yourself._

Jim "Thank you," he nodded.

John mentally kicked himself for crossing the line. "Want to go out tonight, if you're feeling better?"

Jim "They said I'm not supposed to go outside for two weeks," he mumbled.

John wilted. "Oh. Okay, we'll stick to that, then."

"We, we can do whatever you want. I do have to do as you say," he reminded, not wanting him to be sad.

John shook his head. "You do not, Jim. We'll play it safe. I don't want them taking you away."

Jim "They won't unless, um..."

"Unless what?"

"I die," he said softly.

John let out a long breath. "You're not dying, Jim."

Jim nodded. "I know."

"I still don't want to risk it, I... Two weeks. We can make it that long, right?"

"M-make it?"

John smiled warmly. "Without you feeling too cooped up."

Jim shrugged. "This is the biggest bedroom I've had. I think it's okay."

"Even though it's all... pretty much one room?"

Jim nodded. "It's...cozy."

"I promise. When I can, we'll get a bigger place. Where you can have your own room. A soft bed, privacy..."

"Privacy?"

"Mhm. A space all your own, when you want time to yourself."

"I...wouldn't know what to do."

"Read, use the laptop, change clothes. It'd lock from the inside, like the bathroom."

"I...I'd get to do all of those things?"

John nodded. "You can play on the internet, you can read, you can watch movies and telly, you could play games... anything at all."

Jim licked his lips. "I...wow."

“You could do that now, if you want."

"Oh, I-I wouldn't know where to start."

John nodded. "I know, it's probably overwhelming. Wherever you want to start, though. If you think of a thing. Let me know."

Jim nodded back. "Okay."

John kept his arm around him as he watched the program, hoping he didn't cause the man another headache.

Jim leaned his head against his arm.

John smiled. It was comforting.

Jim sighed softly, wondering what it would feel like to touch John's face.

John looked down at him. "You alright?"

Jim nodded and looked back. "Yes, I am."

"Mmm. Good. Just remember- if you need anything, let me know."

Jim nodded again. "I will."

John continued to watch tv, his brain wandering. _Politics. Boring, boring._

Jim "People are stupid," he remarked, watching the screen.

John nodded. "Yes, yes they are."

Jim clacked his jaw shut. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No, it's fine."

"'M not supposed to talk like that," he whispered, as if afraid someone else would hear.

"No one here but us, Jim."

"I'm still not supposed to," he breathed.

"Jim, you can do whatever you want to here."

Jim swallowed. "Have you ever seen a wild animal raised in captivity get let out of a kennel when they're putting it back in the wilderness?"

John shook his head.

"The, the animal steps out, looks at every bit of freedom it's been given, the whole world to do what it wants and...and it turns around and goes back in the cage."

John bit his lip. "Little steps, then."

Jim nodded, head down.

"You're not an animal, Jim."

"But I was raised in a cage."

"Well... yes, you were. I'm just saying. You'll adapt quicker than you think."

"I really, really hope so. I don't want to disappoint you."

John smiled. "You could never disappoint me."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Jim scratched his neck. "You're much too nice to me."

"You deserve nice."

Jim blushed. "Right."

"I really mean it, you know. You do."

Jim smiled lightly at him. "You're the only one who thinks so."

John returned the expression. "For right now, but there will be more."

Jim scratched the code again. "Maybe."

"Definitely."

"You really think people will like me?"

John nodded. "Yes, I do. I think people will love you."

Jim shook his head and ducked his eyes. "Nobody loves me."

John tilted his head up. "It might feel that way, but I care about you alot."

Jim glanced up at him. "You do?"

"Yes, Jim. I do." _And in time..._

Jim swallowed. "Th-thank you."

John let go of his chin, trying not to think about how smooth his skin was. "You're very welcome."

Jim's ears were pink and he turned away, almost shy.

John thought he looked cute when he was embarrassed. _Sorry, I didn't mean to..._ He turned back to the television, heart a little lighter.

Jim again wasn't sure what to do with himself.

"You don't have to stay cooped up in bed you know."

Jim just looked at him. "What am...am I supposed to do?"

John shrugged. "You could read a book, you could play on the computer, you could exercise. I have some hand weights, to help with the tension in my shoulder. I know, it's boring here, and I'm sorry."

"I'm not bored," he said softly. "I...like being...with you."

John smiled. "You do?"

Jim nodded, blushing.

John turned a little pink himself. "I'm glad, very glad."

"Well, you're nice...and sweet...and you talk to me about things," he whispered.

John blushed a little darker. "I'm glad you think that about me."

"How could I not?"

"I don't know, I was worried you'd hate me."

Jim blinked. "How- How could I hate you?"

"I just... I..." _How do I broach this subject?_ "I don't think to highly of myself. I second guess myself a lot, I find it hard to trust people, and I tend to sabotage myself, mentally. And I can be a bit of a dick. So it's... hard for me to imagine anyone enjoying being around me."

Jim slowly, tentatively reached out and put his hand over his. "I do."

John smiled at him, trying to hold back the emotions trying to force their way up. He covered Jim's hand with his own. "I like being around you as well."

Jim blushed. "You do?"

"Very much so."

"I-I'm very glad."

John smiled at him, a warm expression that made his eyes light up. "That's good."

"Not sure what I'd do if you didn't like me."

John chuckled. "If I didn't like you, I would have set you up with your own flat. It would have been pretty much identical to this one."

Jim sniffed. "I...wouldn't have been able to function."

John squeezed his hand. "You didn't have to be alone.”

"I...I don't ever want to be alone."

"You won't be. I promise."

Jim smiled a little at him. "That...that's good."

John smiled back. "Even if you get sick of me and strike out on your own, I'll be here for you."

"I don't think I'll get sick of you."

John chuckled. "I hope not. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," he said, tone sure.

"...Promise?"

Jim nodded. "Mmhm. I promise."

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

"Would you, um. Like your hand back?"

Jim shook his head. "No."

John blushed. "Okay. He turned back to the telly, though he really couldn't focus on what was happening.

"Is...there something wrong?"

"No. Nothing's wrong. I'm just... happy."

"Happy?"

"Yeah. You make me happy."

Jim 's eyes grew, wide and utterly shocked. "Me?"

John nodded. "Yes Jim. You."

"I...I just, I, um," he swallowed. "I don't know how. But...that's good."

"All you have to do is be yourself."

"I don't know who that is, but I'll try."

"You'll find out. You have the rest of your life."

Jim nodded. "I hope so."

"I know you will. And I'll be there to help you."

Jim smiled gently. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Jim."

Jim swallowed. "What if...you don't like who I am? Who I figure out I am."

John "I'll like you no matter what."

"You're sure?"

John nodded. "I'm positive, Jim. Nothing you could do would put me off. As long as you don't hurt animals or children."

Jim shook his head. "No. No, I wouldn't. I can't hurt a child. I'd..." He bowed his head, closing his eyes.

John squeezed his hand. "I know."

Jim swallowed. "Okay."

"Need anything?"

"To stop blushing so much," he said softly.

John chuckled. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Jim shook his head. "No."

John smiled. "Good. ...You know, if you want to know anything about me, all you have to do is ask."

"I don't want to pry or impose," he said immediately.

John shook his head. "You won't, I promise."

"When did your father die?" He whispered.

"About two years after I enlisted. I was... twenty three or twenty four, I think. Ruined his liver. Alcohol."

"He should've died sooner," he whispered.

John nodded. "Yes. He should have."

"I'm sorry. That I spoke out and that...that he didn't."

"You didn't speak out, darling, I promise. I want you to know things about me, as much as you want."

Jim blushed a little. "Why...why don't you and your sister get on?"

"I told you, about my father throwing me down the stairs. He... he caught me with another guy. And Harry told him."

Jim's eyes grew. "I'm...I'm sorry. That someone could...I'm so sorry. And- Oh, you're bisexual," he said softly.

John felt his cheeks grow warm. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. And it's alright."

"Just an observation I didn't mean to say aloud."

John chuckled. "It's fine, Jim. And it's true."

Jim nodded. "Makes sense."

"It does?"

"You...think I'm handsome," he whispered.

John nodded. "Yes, I do. I think you're gorgeous."

Jim flushed magenta and ducked his head.

"Is that okay?"

"Gorgeous?" He whispered.

John nodded. "Absolutely. Takes my breath away."

Jim swallowed. _"Me?"_

John nodded again. "Yes, you."

"I..." He swallowed. "I don't see it."

John frowned. "Really? You don't?"

"No, I think I'm absolutely hideous and should be made to wear a bag over my head around someone that looks the way you do."

John "May I touch your face, Jim?"

"My face?"

John nodded. "I want to prove something to you."

Jim swallowed. "Okay."

John cupped his jaw and smoothed his thumbs over Jim's skin. "Your brows have a defined, slender arch that's almost delicate. They really suit your eyes- which are the color of well-aged whiskey. Sometimes amber, sometimes coal, your eyes are incredible. You have full, soft lips, and a strong jaw, and a slender neck. Very nice cheekbones. I've seen you without a shirt. You're undernourished, but you seem to have a fantastic body. And you're still about two inches taller than I am. You're one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen."

Jim was breathless, awed and cynical. He looked at John with hot tears in his eyes, lips shaking. "You don't think my body's ugly?"

John smiled. "No, I don't think your body's ugly at all."

 _Beautiful..._ "That...that has to be the kindest thing anyone's ever said to me. And I, I can't believe you think that about me," he said, his voice trembling.

John brushed his cheek and let him go. "I do think that. God, I do."

Jim swallowed. "I don't know how, but I'm glad."

John looked at him, smiling warmly. _Maybe someday I can prove it to you. If you ever want me to._

Jim licked his lips. _...soft, full..._  

John did the same subconsciously.

Jim dropped his gaze, stomach flipping a little.

John swallowed and looked away. _Damn it, John._

Jim swallowed. "M-may I take a bath?"

John nodded. "Of course. Do you want to bring clean pajamas with you?"

"If that's what I'm supposed to wear, yes."

"Jim, you can wear whatever you want. Do you want jeans and a jumper? I've also got some button-downs."

"I-I don't know."

"Want to look through my dresser, see if anything looks like something you'd wear?"

"O-okay."

John let him go and walked over to his dresser. "Top one is pants and socks, middle is shirts, third is trousers, and the bottom one is pyjamas. Help yourself."

Jim nodded and went over to it, glancing over his shoulder at him. "Anything?"

"Anything at all."

Jim looked for some time, tentative and worried that he might take the wrong thing. He finally settled on a short-sleeved cream colored shirt, a deep red cardigan, a pair of denims and a pair of black pants. He piled everything neatly in his hands, looking at John. "Is, its this okay?"

John smiled. "It's wonderful."

Jim blushed a little, looking shyly at the floor. "May I take a bath now?"

John nodded. "Of course."

"Okay." He slipped into the bathroom, carefully setting the clothes down, making sure everything around it was clean before he did. He ran the water, joints and chest aching horribly.

John climbed back into the bed and laid facing away from the bathroom, just in case.

Jim got into the tub with a sigh, fingers on his lips. John liked his lips. He talked about them, he liked them... He thought about John's lips, what it would be like to touch them with his own. He shook his head, opening his eyes again. No. None of that. _But he thinks I'm beautiful. Too damaged. Too much baggage. No. Get it out of your head._

John couldn't help but dwell on the shimmer of Jim's lips. _He really is gorgeous, so much it hurts. He wants to stay with me. Maybe... maybe..._

Jim washed his hair and let himself rest a bit, trying not to think about how soft John's hair looked.

John closed his eyes and thought about the way Jim smiled, the way his eyes crinkled and the the little dimples that showed...

 _Can't be thinking like that. It's not allowed. You know that. He could never be with you, not for real. Not being what you are. You know that. Stop pretending._ He swallowed and got out, drying off and carefully getting dressed.

John sighed. _He could never see you as more than just an owner. Best not to think about it, John._

Jim poked his head out the door. "John? M...May I comb my hair?"

John peeked up. "Of course you can, Jim."

"Thank you." He said softly, stepping back in the bathroom and combing his hair back with a sigh.

John rolled onto his back, closing his eyes once more.

Jim came back out ten minutes later, hair smoothed and dressed, ears pinked.

John heard the door open and looked up, smiling. "Feel better?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, thank you."

"Hungry?"

"Yes," he answered, still blushing.

John chuckled. "Want me to make you dinner?"

"If you want," Jim said softly, sitting on the bed.

"Mmm. I do, Jim." John touched his shoulder briefly before moving into the kitchen. "Macaroni okay?"

Jim nodded. "Yes. I suppose, thank you."

John started boiling the water and noodles. "No problem. I don't keep much for fancy meals around, being a bachelor. I'll get groceries tomorrow."

"It's better than anything I've ever eaten, " he said quietly.

John looked at him over his shoulder. "Not for long."

"I don't mind," Jim whispered.

John nodded. "Um. Are you alright?"

Jim looked up from the buttons of the cardigan. "Yes, I'm fine," he nodded. "Just...not used to this."

"To proper clothes?"

Jim shook his head. "No."

"You'll get used to them. And we can order you some online, since my style's pretty... well, boring."

"I like it.”

John blushed. "My clothes? Or clothes in general?"

"Your clothes."

John grinned. "I'm glad."

"They smell like you," he said softly.

John licked his lips. "Do you like the way I smell?"

Jim flushed. "Um...It's...comforting."

"I'm glad." The timer sounded, and he pulled the noodles off. He drained them, and added the milk, butter, and powder. When it was all mixed up, he served them each a bowl and carried them over. "Here you go."

Jim took it from him with a thank you. He moaned when he took a bite.

John licked his lips, his own fork pausing. _Good god. You're going to kill me._ "...Good?"

Jim nodded eagerly. "Yes, it's very good."

John blushed. "I'm glad." He started to eat his own, humming happily.

Jim ate very quickly, actually finishing his bowl.

John smiled up at him. "There's a little more in the pan, if you're still hungry."

Jim shook his head. "I couldn't eat it. It'd hurt my stomach."

John nodded. "Alright." He finished his own bowl and carried the bowls to the sink. "What would you like to do?"

Jim shrugged. "I've never been on the internet," he offered.

John grinned. "Alright. Just, ah. I'm going to apologize in advance if anything, um... adult, should pop up." He was a dark shade of red as he handed Jim his laptop.

Jim "Adult?" He frowned, just staring at the thing.

John looked down. "Oh, christ... I live alone, and I haven't had a date since I got back. I've... Damn, it's hard to, um... porn. Might, um. Might be in the history."

Jim wasn't sure what porn was...or what the hell he was supposed to do with this thing. "Well, I...I don't know what I'm doing, so..."

John nodded. "Oh, um. Alright. You know how to write, so typing shouldn't be too much of a problem. Using the big square pad at the bottom, move your finger to move the mouse. The multicolored wheel is my browser. Click it twice."

Jim tried his hardest to do as he was instructed, and it took much longer than he'd anticipated, but eventually he did what John asked.

John smiled at him. "Alright. What would you be interested in doing? Something fun? Something educational?"

"I-I don't know," he whispered. "I didn't know you could do all of those things on here."

John nodded. "The Internet has everything. Here-" He wrote down a web address and passed it to Jim. "Enter that in exactly, and hit enter, and you'll be taken to an encyclopedia."

Jim looked at it, taking awhile to find all the letters and the enter button. He looked at the screen. "What do I do now?"

“There's a search bar. Enter whatever you want to learn about, type it in and hit enter."

Jim nodded and clicked into the search bar, typing slowly. _S-L-A-V-E R-I-G-H-T-S_

John sat back and let Jim read. _Doing well so far._

Jim's brow creased as he red, jaw tightening the more he did, a fire growing in his eyes.

"You okay?" The set of his jaw, the glower, it was transforming him.

Jim looked up at him and it was gone, all of it. "Yes. I...It's not fair."

John sighed. "No, it's not. That's why I'm going to get you freed."

"I know it was bad, I know the money was almost gone, but...but did it really have to come to this?"

"What do you mean?"

"The economy was bad. It was awful. The lower class couldn't pay for anything, the middle class could but they spent too much and there was no, money, left. So...it started out with indentured servitude. You pay off your debt and you can leave. Then it went to, if you don't want to do it, someone in your family can do it for you. From there...people were giving over their children." He swallowed. "Some people were so far into debt that they could never hope to pay it off. People who allowed the servitude to happen got picky about who they wanted and it all just snowballed into what it is now. Now if a slave breaks something in their owner's house it gets added to their debt. That's...that's how I ended up being in this for thirty years and still owe fifty thousand pounds."

"Forty-one thousand," John said softly.

Jim blushed and looked down, knowing that was the strongest, the loudest and the surest he'd ever spoken in his life and vowing then to never do it again. "Yes," he said, quiet and scared again. "Forty-one thousand."

John frowned. "Jim, you can speak up, you know."

"It's okay.”

"I want you to."

Jim's brow creased. "You do?"

John nodded. "Yes. You should always speak openly around me; I'm not going to hurt you, Jim. And it's... I like it."

Jim licked his lips. "You like it?"

"God, yes."

Jim swallowed. "Why?"

"You just... I like you just fine, the way you are, but it's..." _Hot._ "You're even more incredible when you're confident."

Jim was beet red to his neck. _Incredible._ "That, that's the only thing I'm confident about, John."

John noticed the flush to his skin. "You'll be confident abount more, in time. And that's something to be confident about, something important to feel strongly for. Every life is equal."

"Not to everyone else it isn't," he whispered.

"I can't be the only person, Jim."

"You're a minority.”

John sighed. "I can't let myself believe that. It's too... dark."

Jim nodded and bowed his head.

"Did I do something wrong?"

Jim shook his head. "No, absolutely not."

"Then why do you keep looking away?"

Jim "Because I've been conditioned to do so."

John reached out and lifted his chin with one finger, being very gentle. "We'll just have to get you out of that mindset. You're not my lesser. You're not subservient to me. We're equals."

Jim looked up at him and nodded. "O-Okay. I'll try."

John brushed his jaw and let him go, smiling. "Trying's all I ask. Thank you, Jim."

Jim shivered a little. "You're welcome."

John leaned back and let him continue learning, closing his eyes and smiling. _Told you you were brilliant, Jim._

Jim clicked and typed his way through pages upon pages of information, learning anything and everything he possibly could.

John kept an eye on the time, bringing Jim his antibiotics when they were needed.

Jim jumped when John approached him, like he'd forgotten where he was. "Oh, thank you," he said softly, taking them.

John smiled at him and climbed back into bed, dozing lightly.

Jim read until his eyes hurt and put the computer down on his desk. He came back into bed, curling beside him and sleeping as well.

John rolled over and draped his arm over Jim, sighing softly.

Jim stilled when he did, eyes wide. He nestled closer to him.

"Mmjim," he mumbled.

Jim gasped. "Y-yes, John?"

"Cametobed."

Jim nodded. "I did."

"M'glad."

Jim swallowed. "W-why?"

"Missed you."

Jim barely made noise when he spoke next. "You did?"

John made a noise of agreement. "Mhm."

Jim wasn't sure what was happening. "Okay."

John "Sleep well." John sighed and sank back down into unconsciousness.

Jim lied close to him, sighing gently.

John slept through the night, dreams relatively boring. Jim appeared multiple times throughout, sometimes smiling, sometimes bathed in firelight.

Jim managed not to dream about anything, his mind too overloaded with information to bother with tormenting him.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first outing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!

John woke with a quiet groan, his arm asleep beneath him. He was holding Jim close, protectively curled around his body.

Jim coughed quietly and leaned closer to him.

John smiled. _I can't pinpoint why, but... god, I love waking up to you beside me._

Jim peeked up at him, heavy with sleep. "Hello."

John blushed. "Good morning, beautiful. Want to go shopping with me today?"

"If you want me to," he rasped.

"I'd like that, but you can stay here and use the computer if you'd rather."

"I...don't like being alone," he whispered.

John licked his lips. "I'm sorry. Alright, you can come with me then. You'll, um. You'll have to wear the white outfit, unfortunately. Just until we get home."

Jim swallowed and nodded, hugging the cardigan a little. Special clothes. Nice clothes. He frowned a little bit. "I understand. It's alright."

"It's not alright," John said with a frown, "but it's only temporary. I don't want them to take you away from me." _Or hurt you._

"I don't want them to either," he whispered. "If I got caught outside in this they'd take the clothes and fine you."

John nodded. "So here, you can wear whatever you like. But when we go out..." He sighed. "Just until we pay off your debt."

Jim's heart skipped and he nodded. "Yes."

John untangled himself reluctantly. "Medicine time, breakfast, and then we should shower. Mind if I take the bathroom first?"

Jim shook his head. "It's your bathroom."

" _Our_ bathroom," John said quietly, bringing him the antibiotics and a glass of juice.

Jim blushed a little, barely daring to mumble, "Our bathroom." He took the juice and the medicine.

John searched through his drawers for clothes, finally settling on an outfit for the day. He smiled at Jim. "I'll be out in a few, alright? I'm going to go get showered."

Jim nodded. "Okay."

John walked to the bathroom and locked the door, to make Jim feel safer. He stripped and stepped into the shower, turning on the warm water. _You can make it, John. You can hold out._ His body was betraying him, begging for attention, but he couldn't. _Not with Jim around, not where he might hear and get scared._

Jim sat and fiddled with his glass and his hands, relishing the feel of these clothes while he still had them.

John washed quickly and turned the water to cold. _Go over your grocery list: Meat, something green, bread, milk..._

Jim traced patterns on the blanket, trying not to think about the trip ahead. John wouldn't like what he'd have to do. He might even get mad.

John finished up, the crisis averted, and toweled himself off. He dressed and combed his hair, frowning at the wear of his jeans. _Oh well. I'll buy new ones in a few months._ He unlocked the door and stepped out. "All yours, Jim."

"Thank you," he nodded, taking the uniform with him into the bathroom.

John pulled on his socks and shoes, shrugging into his jacket finally. He was worried the striped shirt was too tight. _I need to exercise or eat less. Or both. Both is good._

Jim took a minute to figure out how the shower itself worked, stepping in and cleaning himself quickly. His chest was tight and his lungs felt heavy, but he needed to hurry. He needed to get this over with.

John checked his bank account. _Three thousand for Jim, nine thousand for the deposit, leaving me with three thousand for food and clothes until next month. That's absolutely fine._

Jim washed his hair and his body, aching and coughing. _Just get it done, get it done, get it done..._ He dried off and got dressed in the white uniform that sent his mind flying ten steps back in the wrong direction.

John closed his laptop and poured cereal into two bowls, adding milk and spoons and waiting for Jim.

Jim smoothed his hair down, stepping out with his head bowed and his hands clasped in front of him.

John forced a smile. _Oh, darling, it's alright._ "Hey, Jim. Wanna come eat breakfast? It's just some cereal, but it's delicious."

Jim nodded and sat down.

"...Jim? You doing okay?"

Jim nodded again, eating slowly. "I...have to call you Master or sir while we're out," he said softly.

John froze. "I... what? Why?"

"If I don't it's unruly and disobedient behavior. Like a dog without a leash," he whispered.

John bit his lip. "Sir. It's less degrading for you. I'm not your master."

Jim nodded, eyes down. "Yes, sir."

"Jim. Not here. Only outside. Here I'm John. Okay? We're going to get through this, and you can change into real clothes when we get back, and I'll make us dinner and you can use the computer. Alright?"

Jim swallowed, his lips shaking. "I'm sorry, John," he whispered, tears in his eyes.

John reached out, offering Jim his hand. "Are you sure you're okay? You wouldn't feel better here, where you don't have to go back to that mindset?"

"If I'm alone..." He cleared his throat, trying to ignore that his voice broke. "If I'm by myself I'll convince myself you hate me and you're being nice to me just to take it all away or that I'm dead, or dreaming..." He shut his eyes, tears leaking down his cheeks. "I want to be close to you but I know those people out there are going to make you mad."

John swallowed. "Jim... Is there anything I can do to, to help? To let you know I _do_ care?"

Jim shrugged. "Prove me wrong?" he trembled.

John licked his lips. "I've been trying to." He stood up, abandoning his breakfast. "Come here for a second, please."

Jim went to him as instructed.

"I'm going to hug you, okay?"

Jim nodded, shaking.

John wrapped his arms around him. Jim was taller, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. He rested his head on his shoulder and simply held him, as if he could fill him with own positive emotions. "It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay. I'm going to take care of you, for as long as you want me to."

Jim slowly hugged him back, light and gentle at first before cinching his arms around his back and squeezing tight. "Okay," he nodded, sniffling. "Okay. Thank you."

John wondered if he should. "...Jim?"

"Yes?"

John took a breath. "Is it okay if I ask you for something? You don't have to say yes to it, but. I'd.. I'd still like to ask."

Jim swallowed. "Um...depends what it is, but you can ask," he whispered.

John hoped it wouldn't cross a line. _Please don't hate me._ "May I kiss you?" He could feel his hand twitch slightly, a ghost of the tremor he hadn't been experiencing. _Nerves. Dammit._

Jim glanced at John's lips, shivering a little. "I...um...if you want to."

"I do," he said with a smile. John's tongue came out of its own accord, wetting his lips. He leaned in and pressed his against Jim's, kissing him softly. He didn't part his mouth, he didn't trace the full curve of his lips with his tongue, he simply kissed.

Jim gasped, utterly lost. John's lips were so careful and gentle. He was scared, sure, but John was kind. He was sweet. So sweet.

John pulled back slowly, their lips parting. "Thank you, Jim. If you get scared today, if those dark thoughts creep up on you, just remember. You already mean a lot to me. Remember the kiss. Okay? Because that's my promise. I'm going to be here for you, no matter what."

Jim was panting, fingers touching his lips where John had been. "I will," he assured, nodding quickly.

John squeezed him once and let go, opting to switch into his longer green jacket. _Black one's too short, I don't... god, his lips are soft..._

Jim swallowed and swayed a little where he stood. _That was perfect. That was absolutely perfect. Like a dream._

John licked his lips again- he swore he could still taste his skin. "Um." _Try again._ "Ready, Jim?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, I am."

John opened the door for him, closing it and locking it tight as soon as they were both out. "You, um. You might have to instruct me, on what to do."

"Walk ahead of me, let me hold the doors open for you. I have to push the cart and carry anything heavy. Unless you tell me not to. I do have to carry things, though. And...people will wonder if you call me by my name."

John frowned. "What do I call you, then?"

“'You' is a popular one. Stupid, ugly, bitch..." He shook his head, remembering the kiss. "Generally you're just supposed to tell me something and I'm supposed to respond to your voice."

John nodded. "No names, I refuse to insult you. You can push the cart, and we don't need anything heavy today."

Jim felt his lungs thank him. "Okay."

"You're still healing, anyway. While we're at the store, we'll get you some things for the bathroom. Toothbrush, comb, your own loofah if you want one."

Jim nodded. "That sounds wonderful."

John paused at the sidewalk, hailing a cab. "Don't forget, Jim," he whispered quietly as they got inside.

Jim shut his eyes and nodded. "I won't...sir."

John swallowed. God, he hated that. They arrived at the Tesco and he waited to see where Jim had to enter. "And I can go with you, right?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, I can go here so long as I'm with you, sir," he said, swallowing a cough with a grimace.

John nodded and entered with Jim in tow. He pulled out a list as Jim gathered a cart. "Alright, we'll start with milk, yogurt, and cheese, since they're usually together."

Jim pushed the cart with joints protesting, eyes down. "Yes, sir."

John felt sick. _Remember, please, Jim._ He followed him to the proper aisle. "Just a small one," he said, knowing Jim was still in pain.

"A small what, sir?"

"Small jug, half-size. it only has to last until the end of the week."

Jim nodded. "Yes, sir." He got the jug down from the shelf, carefully putting it into the cart.

"Alright, next... shredded cheese, cheese slices, and black cherry yogurt."

"Yes, sir." He got them from the shelves as quickly as possible.

John watched him move with sad eyes. "Um... Some chicken, a pound of potatoes, bread, and then we can work on the things that aren't food."

Jim nodded, trying to breathe properly and not cough. "Yes, sir."

John swallowed and followed him. _God, Jim. I'm so sorry._ When they had everything, they started heading for the hygiene aisle. _Get you anything you need, I promise, then we'll get you home._

Jim couldn't cough. God, if he did... He kept his jaw clenched, walking with John, remembering how gentle his lips had been.

"Whatever colors and scents you want, money is no problem right now," John whispered. "Okay- Loofah, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, and combs..."

"Y-yes sir." God, it was hard, making a decision for himself with all these people around. He got a red comb and a blue toothbrush so he and John could tell the difference, getting the same kind of razor John had but black instead of silver. He put that in the cart with a cobalt colored loofah and his own body wash and shampoo.

John smiled. "Alright. Let's check out."

Jim was blushing. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

John licked his lips and followed Jim up to the counter.

Jim put everything on the conveyor, hurrying to the end to bag everything as well.

John was going to take the bags from him as soon as they were in the main hall of his building. _Not going to let you do all the work, darling, I promise._

Jim put the bags in the cart, standing aside and waiting for John to pay. _Oh god, don't fall over, Jim._

John swiped his card, glad that it decided to work for a change. He smiled at the woman as she handed him his receipt.

Jim immediately took the cart and headed for the door under John's lead, almost running into a man passing. "Watch where the fuck you're going, you stupid piece of shit!" He spat. Jim ducked his head. "I'm so sorry, sir, I'm so sorry." The man looked at John. "Keep your slave in line."

John raised his chin and fixed the man with a cold stare. "You'd better respect what's mine," he growled. "Talk to your _own_ that way. He apologized."

Jim's lips shook when John spoke, waiting for more hell. Instead the man huffed and stormed away. Jim pushed the cart outside after John, finally able to cough. His face was beet red when the fit was over.

John frowned. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "We won't leave again until you're better." He hailed a cab. 3

Jim took a few shaky breaths, piling everything into the trunk of the cab and putting the cart back before he held the door open for John.

John climbed in. As soon as Jim was beside him, he took his hand. _I don't care if it's frowned upon._

Jim looked up at him when he did. God, more than anything he just wanted to curl in his arms and never leave.3

John smiled gently, his tongue moving across his lips once again. "Soon," he whispered. "Soon we'll be home, and you'll be dressed properly, and everything will be okay."

Jim nodded, tears in his eyes.

John rubbed his thumb over Jim's hand and started to hum quietly.

Jim listened, shutting his eyes and just wishing they were home.

John sighed in relief when the cab stopped in front of the flat ten minutes later.

Jim got out and held the door for John, quickly gathering the groceries.

John followed Jim into the hall, taking half the bags as soon as the door closed. He fished out his keys and unlocked the flat, stepping inside and setting everything down on the table. "Jim, darling, why don't you get dressed and put your new things in the bathroom, and then come lay with me on the bed?"

Jim nodded again. "Yes, si- John. Okay, John," he forced, getting himself out of it. He stepped back into the bathroom and changed again, putting his new things with John's carefully. He stepped back out and got onto the bed with him like he was told.

John pulled him close. "Jim," he breathed. "I'm so sorry. You're not property to me. You are sweet, and beautiful, and brilliant."

Jim wrapped his arms around him, choking out a sob. "I hate this, I hate it. I hate feeling like this," he whimpered.

John kissed his forehead. "Never again. I'm not making you deal with that again."

Jim sniffled and squeezed him. "I'm sorry."

"You did nothing wrong, darling, nothing at all."

Jim coughed again. "I feel like I ran a marathon."

John frowned. "Need more medicine?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, please.”

John got him antibiotics and painkillers, along with a glass of juice.

"Thank you," he whispered, taking the medicine.

John climbed back in beside him, waiting for him to lay back down with him.

Jim put the glass down and did so, silent tears falling down his face and sticking to his lashes.

"Jim?"

"Yes?"

"...May I kiss you again?"

Jim sniffed. "Y-yes."

John cupped his chin and pressed their mouths together, working them against each other but never penetrating past his lips.

Jim's heart skipped and stuttered, trembling beside him. "That feels..."

"Good?"

Jim nodded. "Yes."

John nuzzled their noses together. "I'm glad. I really enjoy kissing you."

Jim swallowed. "You do?"

John nodded. "Yes I do. Your lips... they feel, and taste, absolutely heavenly. You're warm, and soft... It's... I just really like it, kissing you, that is."

Jim ducked his head, trying to process it all.

"Is... I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have..."

"It's...that's a lot to take in," he whispered.

John swallowed. "Okay."

"I like kissing you too," he said, so soft, lips barely moving when he did.

John blushed. "I'm glad."

Jim shut his eyes, the exhaustion from the trip dragging him into sleep.

John held him close, letting him rest. _You poor man. It's alright. Everything's alright, I promise._

Jim wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tight, as if afraid to lose him.

John smiled sadly. _I'm here, I'm not going anywhere._ 1

Jim hummed softly, falling into a deep sleep where the nightmares sucked him in and gagged his mouth, leaving him screaming in his mind with no physical gives save for sweat on his brow.

John decided to try and sleep too, risking a kiss to Jim's brow. _Sweat... must be fevered. God, I taxed you too hard, I'm so sorry._

_Help me, help me, HELP ME! PLEASE! PLEASE SOMEONE SAVE ME! SOMEONE MAKE IT STOP PLEASE!_

John rested his head on Jim's and closed his eyes. "Jim," he whispered. "Goodnight."

Jim's mind stirred, hearing the voice. _Jim, goodnight._ Like heaven. The voice calmed him, calmed the darkness and he was able to sleep easily the remainder of the night.

John slept peacefully, Jim held in his arms, unwittingly fending off the terrors that waited for him in the dark.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim comes out of his shell, and John introduces him to films.

Jim woke about an hour and a half later, groggy and achy.

John felt Jim stir. "You alright?"

Jim nodded. "Chest hurts. Coughing."

John frowned. "Fuck, I should have gotten cough syrup. I'm sorry. You're not due for more medicine for a few hours still. Maybe a hot bath will help, with the steam?"

"I don't want to move," he breathed, clinging to him.

John smiled. "Alright, darling, I've got you."

Jim sniffed, leaning against him.

John kissed his hair. "Apart from the pain, how are you doing?"

Jim jumped a little at the sudden touch. "I'm alright.”

John winced. "Sorry."

"Just surprised me," he muttered.

"I shouldn't have forgotten to ask."

"I'm sorry that you have to be so careful with me."

"I'm sorry you've had a life that's made you terrified of contact. But that's not your fault, it's everyone else's, and I wish I could help.

Jim swallowed. "You are."

"I am?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, you're helping a lot."

John smiled gently. "I'm glad.”

"Me too."

John held him tightly, humming a little tune to help calm him.

"This pneumonia thing sucks," he mumbled.

John nodded. "Yes, it does, and I'm so sorry you have to deal with it."

"It's not your fault," Jim coughed.

"No, it isn't, but it's taking so long to be fixed."

Jim nodded. "Kind of how pneumonia works," he said, offering a little smile.

John chuckled. "I know. At least you seem to be out of the dangerous time."

Jim nodded. "Mmhm. No Scarlet Fever."

"Just a few more days. Are the antibiotics helping at all?"

Jim nodded. "I think so."

John sighed, relieved. "Good, good. I'm glad."

"Me too."

"Jim?"

"Yes?" He looked up at him.

John licked his lips. "May I kiss you again?"

Jim swallowed. "I...if you want."

John nuzzled their faces together and kissed him, humming softly. _I know it hurt, I know it was awful, and I'm so sorry for putting you through that._

Jim was still as rigid as ever, his lips the only part of him that was moving. _Better than the last._

John pulled back, eyes sad. "Thank you."

"What's wrong?" He whispered.

"I'm worried that I won't be able to make you feel better."

"I have medicine."

"I don't mean physically, but yes, that too. I mean emotionally. Mentally."

"You already are," he nodded. "And the medicine is helping. It's starting to break up in my chest, I promise"

"Are... are you sure?"

"Before I met you, if you kissed me I'd be I'd be crying and on my knees with my mouth open because I'd think that's what you wanted," he said softly.

John froze. "I... what?"

Jim folded his lips shut but nodded. "You didn't read my file, did you?"

"I... no, I've been too worried about getting you healthy and comfortable."

Jim's lips shook. "You should read it."

"I... want me to, right now?"

Jim swallowed. "If you like."

John took his hand and laced their fingers together. "You know it's not going to change how I feel, right?"

"You don't know that," he breathed, voice wavering.

John lifted their hands, so Jim could see, and kissed his fingers. "I do know that." He reached over him and pulled the file out of the nightstand. With one final squeeze he let go of Jim's hand and opened it, beginning to read.

Jim knew what John would see. The year he spent being used like tissue, the training he had to undergo at the agency before he was sold to them. The utter obedience. His gag reflex strengthened, his flexibility improved, anything to make him a better toy. He'd been delivered to them trussed up in rope and leather, gagged and blindfolded with a plug inside of him and a ring around his bollocks and the base of his penis as a sort of gift basket. He knew the picture would be there too. So would the ones of when he was returned, just seventeen years old with the eyes of someone who had seen a century. The malnutrition, the bruising, the scarring, the dried fluids on his skin. He looked dead. His skin was raw around his groin and his arse as well as his wrists and his ankles. The decontamination that followed took days. Every tick of molestation, beating, broken bone or what he broke in the house, every reason he was given back and resold all of it. Right there on paper.

John closed his eyes and the binder, barely breathing. "Jim," he whispered. "Baby, I'm so sorry that you... that they... Never again. You're never going to have to deal with that again. I..." _He'll never accept me, not after everything he's been through._ "I'm so god damned sorry they hurt you like that."

Jim swallowed and looked up at him. "I know you won't hurt me like that," he whispered. "I know you won't. And you don't have anything to be sorry for."

John looked over at him, tears in his eyes. "No. No, I will never hurt you. Especially not like that, that's... Never, Jim. You're safe with me."

Jim swallowed. "I was told...that I got off easy with them."

"What?!"

Jim jumped, shrinking away. "Because I didn't die!" He choked. "Their last slave died," he whimpered. "He died."

John reached for him. "Not mad at you, Jim, mad at this system, mad that people have to endure this... this hell..." He felt terrible, scaring him like that. "I'm glad, so glad you made it, Jim, glad you made it to me."

Jim took his hand shakily. "Me too," he whispered. "I am too."

John kissed his hand again, squeezing gently. "I swear, Jim. I'll never cross any boundaries, I'll never take advantage of you, I'll never... I'll never make you do anything like that. Ever."

"Thank you," he whispered. "I believe you." _God, let me be right. Let me know that you're telling the truth and you won't hurt me. Please, please..._

"Would you like me to start sleeping on the floor again, until you're feeling safer?"

Jim shook his head. "No. I sleep better with you there...and you sleep better too."

John swallowed. "I know, we do, but I can... I can tell, that you're still worried."

"Very deep-seated thinking," he whispered. "The last time someone was this close to me, well..." He swallowed. "But I know you won't. I really do."

John nodded. "I... I swear, Jim. No matter what. I won't touch you like that."

"Okay." He held his hand, kissing his forehead.

John smiled sadly. "Do you need anything?”

Jim shook his head. "Why are you sad?"

John swallowed. "Because of everything you've been through."

Jim shrugged. "It happened."

"And it can never be erased. i can never... I can never spare you that pain."

Jim swallowed. "It...it's enough that you care."

John sighed. _You'll never want to be with me. Nothing I do will ever be enough._ "I... I hope that's true, Jim."

Jim wilted.

"What's wrong?"

"You're still upset."

John shook his head. "I'm not upset, Jim, just... sad."

"Why?"

John swallowed. "I just... I'd been... you'll probably hate me if I tell you."

"I could never hate you," he whispered.

John squeezed his hand. "God, I just... I'd started hoping. That maybe, when you were free, we might... be a couple. You said you'd want to stay with me, and I care about you, and..."

Jim licked his lips. "Why can't we still do that?" He breathed.

"I... I didn't think you'd want to."

Jim sniffed. "Who said that?" He whispered. _I'm dreaming._

"With... Well, no one said, I just figured, with what you've been through, you, um. Wouldn't be interested."

"I've never had someone be this nice to me, either."

"I know."

"So...so why wouldn't I be...interested?"

"Well, because... Oh, hell. In, um. Adult relationships, people..."

Jim blushed and ducked his head. "You don't want to be intimate with me because of how I behave. I'm sorry."

John raised his chin gently. "Jim. No. I'm worried you wouldn't want to be intimate with ME, because of your past."

Jim swallowed. "I...I don't know." He looked away again. "But I suppose if I can't then you...you wouldn't want to be with someone like that. I understand."

"I'd want to be with you regardless. I'd respect your asexuality. I'd just... probably need my own bathroom." John tried to smile.

"You wouldn't be happy."

"My happiness isn't tied to sex. Don't know if you noticed, I'm not exactly up to my knees in offers lately, and I'm fine."

Jim said nothing, feeling as if he should've just kept his mouth shut about it.

John settled back against the bed. _I never should have opened my fucking mouth. Way to go, John. You ruin everything._

Jim wiped his eyes, the tears coming from nowhere.

John squeezed his hand. "It's alright, Jim. It's fine."

Jim shook his head. "No it's not. I'm stupid and useless and I can't do anything right," he cried.

John pulled him to his chest and smoothed his hair. "You are brilliant, Jim, and so beautiful. I wish I could show you."

Jim sniffed. "I want to be with you. I do, so much. I want to trust you enough to...to do that."

John kissed his tears away. "I don't have to do that, Jim. If, someday, you wanted to try... You could always have me."

"I...I want you."

"You do?" John wanted to make sure he understood.

"I want to be with you like...like real people are. And we can...we can work up to that. Right?”

John nodded. "You _are_ a real person, Jim. And yes, we can work up to that."

Jim swallowed. "So...does that mean we...?" He looked at him, eyes wide and hopeful.

"That I'm yours? Yes."

Jim licked his lips, eyes holding an innocence he didn't think he had left.

John smiled at him and kissed his cheek. "I'm all yours."

Jim slowly, carefully and for the first time without asking or thinking, Jim reached out and cupped John's face in his hands, looking at him like he was the most precious thing in the whole world.

John nuzzled into his palms, smile widening. "Hello, Jim."

"Hi," he smiled, happy, awed tears in his eyes now.

John could see the shell cracking, could see the man hidden beneath in that expression alone. It warmed his heart. "Such a beautiful smile."

Jim blushed and wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tight.

John hugged him back, eyes misting.

"Mine," he whispered.

John shivered. "Yours. Forever."

Jim shut his eyes and rested his head against his chest.

John smoothed his hair, smiling.

"You're so warm."

"Is that a good thing?"

Jim nodded. "I've been cold a lot."

John held him tighter. "I'm more than willing to keep you warm."

Jim shut his eyes and sighed contentedly. "You're sure I'm awake?"

John chuckled. "You can pinch me, if you like. My offer still stands."

"I still don't want to pinch you."

John kissed his cheek. "Okay."

Jim hummed softly.

John closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. _This is perfect._

Jim forgot about how scared he was. He forgot about the pain in his chest and anything that had happened before this moment.

John hadn't felt that peaceful in years. _I'm falling for you harder every day._

Jim traced the thread pattern in John's shirt, sighing softly. Are you alright?"

"I'm wonderful. Just enjoying this."

Jim shut his eyes. "Me too."

John ran his hands over Jim's shoulders, feeling his heart beating against his chest.

Jim leaned back into his chest."Mmn..."

John kissed his forehead. "You're gorgeous."

Jim flushed a deep magenta. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

"I think you're pretty too."

John smiled. "Thank you, Jim."

"You're welcome."

John nuzzled against him and closed his eyes. _I could stay like this forever._

Jim's stomach growled, penetrating the silence and making him blush again.

John chuckled. "Hungry?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, I am."

"Hop up and I'll make us some dinner, darling."

"Okay," he nodded, slipping off of him.

John kissed his hand and walked to the kitchen, getting out everything he'd need.

Jim smiled a little, happy. Completely happy.

John decided on lemon chicken, rubbing the seasoning into the freshly washed and trimmed breasts, humming quietly.

Jim rubbed his hands together, listening to John hum.

John placed the meat in the frying pan and turned on the back burner, boiling water for rice.

Jim just watched John cook with a contented smile.

John arranged the plates when he was done and set the pans in the sink. "Alright, baby. Let's eat."

Jim smiled and took his plate. "Thank you very much."

"Mmm, you're welcome." John turned on the telly and sat beside him, cutting his chicken into pieces.

Jim ate slowly, humming. "This is very good."

John smiled. "Thank you, I'm glad you like it. Told you I'd cook you a proper meal."

Jim nodded. "Yes you did."

John took a bite, groaning. "Mmm. God, yes, came out better than I'd expected."

Jim blushed at John's noise and kept eating.

John continued to clean his own plate, noises slipping from his throat every now and then.

Jim kept eating as well, slowly and carefully.

John finished and carried his plate to the sink.

Jim ate a little more than half of his before his stomach couldn't take anymore.

John smiled down at him. "Want me to save the rest for later?"

"Please?" He said quietly.

John kissed his forehead. "Sure thing." He wrapped his plate up and set it in the fridge before coming back to the bed.

Jim pinked and waited for him to sit beside him.

John crawled under the covers and laid his head on Jim's knee, facing the television.

Jim jumped a little in surprise but calmed quickly, smoothing his hair.

John hummed happily. "That feels incredible."

"It does?"

John nodded. "I love having my hair toyed with."

Jim smiled and kept carding his fingers through his hair.

John blushed. "You have very nice hands."

Jim folded his lips. "Thank you."

John nuzzled against him, lazily flipping through the channels. It was blissfully normal.

Jim watched him flip through the television channels while continuing to fuss with his hair.

John settled on old episodes of doctor who, humming along with the theme.

"What's this?" He asked.

John rolled over and smiled up at him. "Show about time travel made on a shoestring budget."

Jim smiled back. "Neat."

John giggled. "It really is." He turned back to the screen, lacing his hand with Jim's free one.

Jim squeezed his hand. _Well, look at that, Jimmy. Not a housepet anymore._

John made a pleased sound. _You're wonderful._

Jim counted the colors in John's hair while he ran fingers through them, sighing contentedly. “You're gorgeous," he blurted.

John blushed and turned back to him. "You really think so?"

Jim nodded, ears pink. "Yes, I do."

John licked his lips. "Thank you, Jim. No one's said that to me in years."

"That's stupid," he said softly.

"Why's that?"

"Because people should be telling you that every day," he breathed.

  


John shifted against the bed. "...You can."

Jim nodded. "I will."

"I'll do the same. You are absolutely beautiful."

Jim flushed. "If you say so."

"Mm. I know so, Jim.”

"You're very kind."

"Yeah, but I'm also honest."

Jim blushed again. "Only person to ever think I'm pretty."

"More than pretty. You make my heart stop."

"That sounds unhealthy.”

John giggled. "Hurts a little, but in a good way."

Jim stayed pink, smoothing his hair back still.

John closed his eyes. "You're very special."

"I am?"

John nodded. "Very special to me. Precious even."

"Me?"

"Yes, Jim. You."

"Why?"

John licked his lips. "Jim. I'm... You are intelligent, and kind, and so gorgeous. You have a good heart, even if its broken right now, and I see the man hidden away behind the years of abuse and mistreatment. I..."

Jim blushed. "You really think all that of me?"

John nodded. "Yes, baby. I do."

Jim pinked deeper at the name. "Thank you."

John pulled Jim's hand to his lips and kissed his fingers. "You're very welcome. Thank _you_ for being wonderful."

"But I didn't do anything."

"Just being you is enough."

"Okay."

"... Would it be alright if I kissed you again?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, it would."

John reached up and cupped the back of his head. "Come down to me, please," he whispered, leaning up a little.

Jim leaned down to meet his lips, humming softly.

"May I try something different?" John kept his voice soft, barely a whisper, his lips brushing against Jim's.

Jim shivered and nodded.

John traced Jim's lips with his tongue and licked into his mouth, humming quietly.

Jim whimpered softly, kissing him deeply.

John let himself get lost in Jim's taste, their tongues sliding together and his eyes falling closed. _God, Jim. You're wonderful._

Jim couldn't breathe, or think. Not well, anyway, kissing him feverishly.

John moaned, heat pooling in his gut. _I should stop, I should... god, I don't want to..._

Jim gasped back, shivering.

John pulled back a little and licked his lips, eyes searching Jim's face. "Was that alright?"

Jim nodded, slightly drunk on him. "I-I yes."

John grinned. "I'm glad. You're an incredible kisser."

Jim folded his lips. "Thank you."

"Mmm. You're very welcome."

"You seem to like it when I touch you," he said softly.

"I love it when you touch me."

Jim blushed. "Thank you."

John smiled. "You're very welcome."

"I like touching you."

John flushed in turn, licking his lips. "You do?"

Jim nodded. "Mmhm. You're soft."

John giggled. "Soft?"

Jim hesitantly smoothed a hand over his cheek. "Mmhm."

John leaned into his touch with a small sigh. "Mmm... Not soft everywhere, sadly."

Jim touched his belly. "You're soft here," he offered.

John giggled. "I didn't used to be. I was thinking of my shoulder, actually." _My scar. I showed you, once._

Jim saw the subconscious shift John's arm gave and he put his hand over his shoulder. "No, you're not soft here. You're strong."

John tilted his head. "Strong? I don't feel strong."

"You're strong enough to stand up to someone as stubborn as Master Holmes and save me. You're strong enough to deal with my mindset and strong enough to help me change my mind. You're...the strongest man I've ever met."

John placed his hand over Jim's. "Thank you, Jim. Thank you."

"You're welcome.”

John squeezed his hand. "You're the best thing to ever happen to me."

"I...have a hard time believing that."

John took Jim's hand and placed it over his heart. "I mean it."

Jim swallowed. "I...I'm glad."

John smiled gently at him. "You make me feel wonderful, Jim."

"I'm very glad that I do," he said softly, smiling gently.

John hummed. "It's going to be easy, you know."

"What is?"

"Falling in love with you."

"Love?" He repeated the word like saying it aloud would bring the world crashing in.

John nodded. "Love."

Jim swallowed. "You could love me?"

"...Think I already do."

Jim blinked. "You do?"

John nodded. "I love you, Jim."

Jim's throat tightened and his eyes watered.

John kissed his hand and settled back against his leg.

"I love you too," he blurted.

John felt his own eyes mist. "You do?"

Jim nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do. I can't stop thinking about you and you make my heart pound and lying beside you feels like it's what I was made for," he gushed, rushing through the words.

John smiled through his tears. "That," he said softly," is exactly what love is."

"Then that's what I am. I'm in love with you."

John sat up and wrapped his arms around Jim, pulling him close. "I love you," he breathed.

Jim hugged him back. "I love you too."

John nuzzled against him. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me for that."

"But I want to. You let yourself open up to me, to the idea of me."

Jim swallowed. "Scariest thing ever."

John nodded. "But it worked out."

"Yes, yes it did."

John kissed his cheek. "That's what matters."

Jim pinked. "Mmhm. I agree," he said softly.

John rested his chin on Jim's shoulder. "Mmm."

"Still like touching me?"

John chuckled. "Yes I do."

Jim nuzzled lightly against him. "I like touching you too."

John blushed. "That's good. I really enjoy it when you do."

Jim squeezed him. "Then I won't stop."

John giggled. "Good. Thank you."

Jim smiled. "I like that sound."

"My giggles?"

Jim smiled. "Makes my heart pound and my stomach turn over."

John blushed. "You're the only one that gets to hear them."

"You don't laugh around other people."

John grinned. "There aren't any other people in my life."

Jim frowned a little. "Nobody?"

"My sister, but we don't get on."

Jim looked sad. "I'm sorry."

John kissed him gently. "Don't be."

"But...don't people have friends? People they like?"

"They do, but I don't... I don't get out much. You're all I have."

Jim swallowed. "Well, you don't have to stay with me all day if you don't want," he whispered.

John frowned. "Baby, I want to spend all day with you."

"You're sure?" He asked, looking up at him.

"Yes, I am. All day with you, every day with you."

Jim smiled softly. "That...I want that too.”

John kissed his jaw, lips lingering. "Good."

Jim pecked his cheek. "I'm glad you think so.”

John chuckled. "Mmm. It's good, when you... I like it when you make a move."

"I'm getting braver," he nodded.

John beamed. "I'm glad, so glad."

Jim smiled a little bigger than he usually did.

"Mmm. Gorgeous."

Jim pinked. "Thank you."

John kissed one of his dimples. "What do you want to do tonight?"

Jim flushed deeper. "Um...I don't know."

"Want to watch telly, or play online some more?"

"I liked the computer," he nodded.

"Alright." He pulled it out and handed it to him. "You keep reading, and I'll watch telly."

"Okay," Jim nodded, taking it from him and bringing up the browser to read again.

John stretched out beside him and flipped through the channels. One was showing a war film, and John grinned. _Perfect._

Jim glanced up at the screen, brows knitting. He clicked into the search bar. _W-A-R I-N A-F-G-H-A-N-I-S-T-A-N._

John blinked, lost in the gunfire. "...Not how you hold the rifle," he muttered. "Poor form. Pathetic aid kit, they'd laugh you off the field..."

Jim frowned, looking at the people getting shot and dying left and right. His lips shook a little, tears in his eyes.

John heard a small noise and looked up. "Shit, I'm sorry." He flicked through until the news was on instead.

"You did that?" He breathed, looking back at him.

John bit his lip. "Sometimes. I mostly stayed in tents and tended wounds. Sometimes, though, I needed to fight."

Jim hugged him, setting the computer aside. He squeezed him tight. "That's awful."

John hugged him back. "I'm sorry."

"I just...And then you got shot and that had to be so terrible." He hugged him tight.

John chuckled. "It was. I was trying to stitch up another soldier, and they caught me too. Stitched it up myself, but it got infected."

Jim sniffed and squeezed him.

"I'm okay now though, baby, and I'm here with you."

Jim kissed his scarred shoulder. "I told you you were strong."

John blushed. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am. And so are you."

Jim shrugged. "I just don't die easy."

"And neither do I."

"You fought to protect people, I...Just wouldn't die."

John kissed his head. "Strongest man i know."

"Thank you."

"I mean it."

Jim squeezed his hand. "I know."

"Think you're okay to continue your research?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah. Sorry."

"You're fine." He gave him a soft kiss and drew back, getting caught up on current events.

Jim smiled a little and took the computer again, moving away from the page and back to something called disco.

John smiled as the news faded into a rather amusing comedy, a parody of British life.

"What kind of music do you like?" He whispered.

John blushed. "Um. Britpop."

Jim shrugged. "What's that?"

John grinned. "You should look up Blur. The song Beetlebum."

"Um, how?"

John pouted to the address bar. "Type in there, and hit enter. It'll take you to a search engine."

Jim did as he was told. He listened happily, bopping along. "I like this."

John beamed. "I'm glad.”

Jim looked up at him when the song was over. "I like it."

John kissed his cheek. "Look up Elastica next, their lead singer was with Damon for most of the nineties. They're decent."

Jim blushed. "Okay." He did so again, still smiling a little.

John rubbed his back. "You're so wonderful."

"Because I like music?"

"Because you're willing to try things I like." 

Jim smiled a little. "Of course I do. I like you and I want to know what you like."

"Be sure to look into your own tastes too, baby. I'll adapt as well." 

"Okay. I don't know what I like, but...but I'll figure it out."

"That's what the internet is for."

Jim nodded. "Okay."

John grinned up at him. "You can also look for movies and shows on there."

"You can?"

John nodded. "Type 'movies' into the search, you'll get all sorts."

Jim did so, eyes growing. "Wow."

John chuckled. "The world is at your fingertips, darling."

"I can see that," he whispered, just looking. "There's so many."

John nodded. "Just be careful. Some aren't very good, some are very graphic."

Jim cocked his head. "Graphic how?" He whispered.

"War, death, violence... some of the things you went through... Just, be careful."

Jim frowned. "Why would they make movies about that?"

"Because people are terrible."

"That's...I don't understand people," he whispered.

John kissed his hand. "Avoid the horror genre. And the action genre, then, I guess. No bond movies."

"What movies?"

"James Bond, he's a spy, it's... he gets hurt a lot. For information."

Jim swallowed. "Oh. Okay."

John bit his lip. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"People."

Jim patted his cheek. "That's not your fault.”

John shrugged. "I know it isn't baby, but it's a... a very desensitized world, that we live in."

"I understand that," He whispered.

John wrapped his arms around Jim's waist. "But you're safe here, love.”

Jim nodded, leaning his head against his forehead.

John reached up to stroke his hair. "You should try watching Harry Potter."

Jim cocked his head. "Harry Potter?"

John nodded. "High-fantasy series. Violence, but barely any blood. Mostly lights, from spells. I like it."

"Oh, that boy with the thing on his forehead?"

John blushed. "Scar. Yeah."

"I'd like that," he smiled. "I like magic."

John grinned. "I have the dvds, hang on." He stood up and put The Philosopher's Stone in, wrapping an arm around Jim as soon as he was back in the bed.

Jim bounced a little in his seat, excited.

John snuggled against him, heart beating a little faster as the credits began.

Jim leaned against him, watching the movie with interest.

John let the story pull him in, hoping Jim would enjoy it as well.

Jim watched it with intrigue, lacing his fingers in John's.

John squeezed his hand. "I love you."

Jim pinked. "I love you too."

"I'd be a Gryffindor. Or a Hufflepuff. I'm a nice mix of both."

"I don't know what I'd be," he said softly.

John kissed his hand. "Ravenclaw."

"You think?"

John nodded. "Because you're so smart."

Jim smiled a little. "Thank you."

John giggled. "You're adorable."

Jim blushed. "I am?"

"Oh yes, very much so. You always seem taken off guard by my compliments, and it's cute."

"I am," he said softly.

"Because you're not used to them?"

Jim nodded. "I never got complimented before you."

"Well. You're going to get that a lot from now on."

Jim smiled gently. "Yeah?"

John kissed his cheek. "Definitely."

"That's good," he said softly, settling beside him.

"When you're free, what do you want to do with your life?"

"Spend it with you," he whispered.

John smiled. "And you will, beautiful. You will."

Jim giggled. "Good."

"I meant... Do you want to dedicate your life to an art, or a craft? Do you want to get a job? Ever had a dream you really wanted to come true?"

Jim shrugged. "I...never really thought about it."

John chuckled. "You should. You can do anything you want."

"It's...it's not too late? I'm...I'm so old."

John snorted. "Baby, you're younger than I am, and you're never too old for a career."

"I'm old for a slave," he whispered.

"You're not a slave anymore, not for too much longer. Just a few months."

"I know," he nodded, stomach flipping a little. "It's just...very hard to know that I won't die of exhaustion or starvation."

John took his hand. "You won't die. Period. You're going to be fed and loved, forever."

Jim smiled gently and squeezed his hand. "I...did have some thoughts...about what I'd do if I weren't a slave anymore.”

"Like what?"

Jim cleared his throat, head down. "I'd...I'd give back every ounce of hell that I'd been given." He ended with a snarl, that fire John had seen once before sparking there again.

John shivered. "What would you do?"

"Kill 'em all," he whispered.

“Who?"

"Anyone that ever hurt me. Anyone that let it happen. I'd blow that fucking agency out of the sky."

"...You should."

Jim blinked, coming back to himself. "I...what?"

"You should hurt them. Every person who laid a hand on you, break the agency, break the system."

Jim swallowed. "I should. But...I don't know how. And...I mean I'm nothing special, I couldn't."

"You are very special, Jim. I'm sure you'll come up with a plan."

"I...I don't know. I'm not that brave," he whispered.

"Yes you are, baby. You are. I could see it, the fire in your eyes."

"I never...Maybe if I'm with you longer," he whispered.

John smiled. "You're going to do it. I promise."

"You...you don't mind that it's...violent and illegal?”

John swallowed. "I want the people who hurt you to pay, Jim."

"And they won't unless I...I do something."

"I know. I know that."

Jim hugged him. "Let's just do this right now," he whispered, focusing his attention back on the film. It was something to think about, for the future.

 


End file.
